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missarchive · 6 months ago

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guys my age - spencer reid

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

who? professor spencer reid x student fem!reader

category: slow burn, forbidden love.

content warnings: NSFW MDNI! age gap! (spencer is in his 40s, reader is in her 20s). dubious content. freakish obsessed reader, freakish obsessed spencer. dom!spencer, but reader is pretty controlling. borderline stalking. unprotected p in v. forbidden love. power dynamics. smut. spencer cums inside :]

word count: around 8k

a/n: hi all!! this is my first post, i used to write wayyy back in the day but after a long three years and finally finishing my degree, i now have all the time in the world to write again. feedback is greatly appreciated <3

The lecture hall was alive with murmurs, but you couldn’t hear them. All you could focus on was the moment that door would open, the instant he would walk in. Dr. Spencer Reid. His name consumed you, whispered endlessly in the back of your mind, an invocation that made your pulse quicken. You had done your research long before the semester began—his credentials, his publications, the infamous cases he’d worked. He wasn’t just brilliant. He was untouchable. But not to you.

You sat deliberately in the middle row, far enough back to observe him fully, close enough to feel like he was speaking directly to you. The moment he entered, time seemed to slow. His presence was overwhelming, his voice a melody that wrapped around you, dragging you under. Every movement he made—the way his fingers toyed with the edge of his lecture notes, the slight adjustment of his glasses—was a spectacle.

“Good morning, everyone. Welcome to Advanced Criminology. I’m Dr. Spencer Reid.” His voice was smooth and confident, with an underlying warmth that immediately put you at ease.

For the next hour, you sat transfixed as he delved into the complexities of criminal behavior, weaving together case studies and theories with an ease that only someone with his expertise could manage. He had a way of making even the most intricate concepts accessible, his passion for the subject evident in every word. By the end of the lecture, you were utterly captivated—not just by the material, but by the man who delivered it.

Perfectly ironed white shirt, sleeves rolled up his forearms. The same black suit pants you’d seen countless times when you closed your eyes. Unruly curls lay in a perfect mess, somehow each strand just fit. His eyes held knowledge, they commanded attention. They looked at you with such an intensity, you wondered if he could see right through you. Sure, he wasn’t blind. Dr. Spencer Reid was a genius, after all. But, as he walks around his classic oak desk, fingers grazing against the wood as he leans up against it, you wonder if he knows the effect he has on you… On everyone.

Your old professor had resigned, much to your dismay. However, that was quickly resolved once you learnt of the new, much younger professor who was assigned to take his place. Spencer Reid, a name that seemed like a curse every time it was spoken. You’d just have to settle for admiring from afar, for now.

He was perfect. No, he was more than that. He was yours.

In those first weeks, it became routine to linger after class, pretending to ask questions about criminological theories when all you wanted was his attention. You started tracking his habits: the exact time he arrived on campus, where he grabbed his coffee, the path he took to his office. It wasn’t enough to listen to him during lectures. You needed to know him. Needed to understand every nuance of his life.

Your notebooks filled slowly. Not just with his words, but with sketches of his hands, his profile, even the way the light hit his hair during evening lectures. You memorized his mannerisms and read every book he recommended—not just to excel but to mirror his thoughts, to create a bond he couldn’t ignore.

Each interaction became a drug, a fleeting high that left you craving more. The way his eyes lingered on yours during class wasn’t a coincidence. You were sure of it. The moments his voice softened when addressing you were evidence of something deeper. He felt it too—he had to.

Dr. Reid, for his part, seemed to enjoy your curiosity. He would patiently answer your questions, occasionally sharing anecdotes from his time in the field. There was a depth to him that intrigued you, a sense of vulnerability hidden beneath his intellect. You couldn’t help but feel a growing admiration for him—one that you knew was dangerous to entertain.

It happened on a rainy Friday afternoon. You had stayed behind after class to discuss a particularly challenging case study, and the conversation had spilled into his office. The rain pattered against the window as you sat across from him, your notes spread out on the desk between you.

“I’m impressed with your analysis,” he said, his eyes meeting yours. “You have a natural aptitude for this field.”

The compliment sent a flush of warmth through you, but you quickly pushed it aside. “Thank you, Dr. Reid. That means a lot coming from you.”

For a moment, the air between you shifted, the professional boundary wavering ever so slightly. He seemed to sense it too, clearing his throat and looking away. “Well, uh, keep up the good work. I’m looking forward to seeing your perspective on the next assignment.”

As you gathered your things and prepared to leave, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something unspoken lingered between you. It was subtle, like the faintest trace of electricity in the air, but it was there. And it terrified you.

The weeks turned into months, and the connection between you and Dr. Reid continued to deepen. It wasn’t intentional—at least, that’s what you told yourself. You simply couldn’t help the way your conversations seemed to flow effortlessly or the way his insights resonated with you on a level that felt personal.

There were moments when you caught him watching you during lectures, his gaze lingering a fraction longer than necessary. And then there were the times when his praise felt almost... intimate, as if he saw something in you that went beyond your academic abilities.

You knew it was wrong. He was your professor, and the power dynamic alone made any kind of relationship inappropriate. But the more you tried to suppress your feelings, the stronger they seemed to grow. You found yourself yearning for his company, for the way his mind worked, for the rare glimpses of vulnerability he shared.

And you weren’t entirely sure he was immune to it, either.

It was during a late-night office visit that everything came to a head. You had been working on your final paper and were struggling with a particular section. Dr. Reid had offered to review it, and you had jumped at the chance, grateful for his guidance.

As you sat across from him, discussing your ideas, the tension that had been building between you finally reached its breaking point. There was a moment of silence as he leaned back in his chair, his eyes searching yours.

“You’re incredibly talented,” he said softly. “I hope you know that.”

The vulnerability in his voice caught you off guard, and before you could stop yourself, you replied, “It’s easy to feel that way when someone like you believes in me.”

The words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. He looked at you, his expression a mixture of conflict and longing. “This...” he began, his voice barely above a whisper. “This can’t happen. I won’t elaborate further, but you’re a smart girl… I know you know what I'm talking about.”

You nodded, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “I know.”

But even as you said it, neither of you moved to leave. All you received was a curt nod. The pull between you was undeniable, and in that moment, it felt as though the world had narrowed to just the two of you.

The night of the gala was your chance. You spent hours perfecting your appearance, knowing he would notice you in a way he never had before. And when he did, when his eyes locked onto you with that unreadable expression, it was like the entire world fell away.

When he led you to the corner of the room, your heart pounded, not with fear, but with anticipation. His frustration, his struggle to maintain control, only proved how deeply you had affected him.

“What are you doing?” He demanded, his voice low and sharp.

You tilted your head, feigning innocence. “I don’t know what you mean, Dr. Reid.”

His jaw clenched, his composure slipping. “You know exactly what I mean. You’ve been crossing lines all semester.”

You stepped closer, the scent of his cologne intoxicating. “And what if I have?”

His gaze burned into yours, his control fraying with each passing second. “This has to stop.” He said, though his tone lacked conviction.

But you knew better. You had studied him, unraveled him piece by piece. He wasn’t as strong as he pretended to be. And neither were you.

“Maybe I don’t want it to.” You whispered, your voice trembling with both fear and desire.

For a moment, his eyes softened, as if seeing the truth of your obsession for the first time. “Obsession is a dangerous game.” he murmured, more to himself than to you.

You would burn the whole world down if it meant keeping him close.

The world outside of Dr. Reid’s orbit ceased to matter. Friends became an afterthought. Classes, even the ones you’d once excelled in, were nothing more than obligations. Every moment not spent in his presence felt wasted. His words were etched into your memory, his voice a constant echo in your mind.

You found excuses to linger near his office, pretending to read in the hallway or jotting down notes on topics that had long ceased to matter. Sometimes you’d see him through the small window of his door, head bowed over papers, fingers absently running through his tousled hair. Those moments were sacred.

And then there were the nights.

Your dreams became a battleground, the lines between fantasy and reality blurring. You would see him, hear him, feel the phantom weight of his gaze. Waking up was a cruel joke, pulling you from a world where he was already yours. More than once, you had the fleeting urge to knock on his door late at night, under the pretense of needing help.

But you stopped yourself. Barely.

For now.

When he praised you in class, it felt personal, intimate. You lived for those moments. The way he would say your name, how his eyes would flicker with something unreadable—those seconds were your lifeline. But it wasn’t enough. You wanted more. You needed more.

You started keeping track of the little details. The brand of pens he used. The scuff on his leather satchel. The faint hint of lavender in his cologne. You’d bought the same scent, spraying it on your pillow just to feel closer to him at night.

One evening, you followed him. It wasn’t intentional, not at first. He left the lecture hall as you lingered, and without thinking, you gathered your things and trailed behind him. He walked briskly, head down, weaving through the near-empty campus. You stayed far enough back to avoid suspicion but close enough to study him.

He stopped at the local bookstore, his long fingers running over the spines of books with a reverence that made your chest tighten. You hid behind a display, watching him as he browsed. When he left, you waited a few moments before approaching the same section. He had lingered near the true crime section, and you traced the path of his fingers, touching the same books he had touched.

It became a ritual after that. You discovered his favorite haunts: the coffee shop where he always ordered black coffee with two sugars, the quiet corner of the library where he would sometimes sit and read, the park where he walked on Sunday mornings. You were careful, meticulous, ensuring he never saw you. But you saw him.

Every time you caught a glimpse of him, it felt like a secret, a moment that belonged solely to you.

The gala had been your boldest move yet, and the way his gaze lingered on you that night had only fueled the fire. His warning echoed in your mind, but you dismissed it. He said you were crossing boundaries, but you knew better. He was simply scared. Scared of what this meant. Scared of what you meant.

You decided to leave him something. A token, something small enough to avoid suspicion but personal enough that he would know it was from you. A first edition of one of the books he had mentioned in class. You placed it on his desk after everyone had left, your heart racing as you imagined his reaction.

The next day, you waited, anticipation coiling in your stomach like a serpent. When he walked into class, the book was in his hand. His eyes scanned the room, lingering on you for a moment too long before he placed it in his bag without a word.

It was a victory.

But victories, you realized, were fleeting.

One evening, as you left the library, you spotted him walking toward his car. The parking lot was empty, save for the two of you, and for the first time, you didn’t bother to stay hidden. You followed him openly, your footsteps echoing against the pavement.

He stopped abruptly, turning to face you.

“Why are you following me?” He asked, his voice sharp but not unkind. His eyes held a mixture of curiosity and something darker, something you couldn’t quite place.

Your breath caught, but you forced a smile. “I wasn’t following you, Dr. Reid. I just happened to be walking this way.”

His gaze didn’t waver. “This isn’t the first time, is it?”

The accusation hung in the air, and for a moment, you thought about denying it. But then, something inside you snapped.

“No.” You admitted, your voice trembling. “It’s not.”

His expression shifted—confusion, disbelief, and something else flickered across his face. “Why?”

The word was a whisper, barely audible, but it was enough to unravel you.

“Because I can’t stop thinking about you,” you said, the words tumbling out in a rush. “I can’t eat, I can’t sleep—I can’t focus on anything but you. You’re brilliant, and kind, and perfect, and I—”

“Stop,” he interrupted, his voice firm. “This isn’t healthy.”

You took a step closer, desperation clawing at your chest. “But it’s real. You know it is. I see the way you look at me. Don’t pretend you don’t feel it too.”

He took a step back, shaking his head. “This has to end…now. Do you understand me?”

But you didn’t believe him. Not really. Because you had seen the way his hands trembled when you were near, the way his voice softened when he spoke to you. He was scared, yes, but not of you. He was scared of himself.

And that, you realized, was all the encouragement you needed.

Dr. Reid’s words echoed in your mind for days after the encounter in the parking lot. This has to end. But the way he said it, the way his voice wavered ever so slightly, betrayed him. It wasn’t conviction; it was fear. Fear of what you had awakened in him.

You were sure of it now. He wasn’t immune to you. Not entirely.

The proof came in small, fleeting moments—too subtle for anyone else to notice, but to you, they were glaring signs. The way his eyes lingered on you during lectures, his gaze softening before he quickly looked away. The way he adjusted his tie when you walked into the room, as if suddenly self-conscious. And then there were the compliments, so carefully worded that they might seem innocent to others, but to you, they felt personal. Intimate.

Still, he kept his distance. Even when you sought him out after class, he kept the conversations brief, his tone polite but clipped. It was maddening, the way he seemed to hold himself back.

But then, there were cracks.

One afternoon, you arrived at his office under the guise of needing help with a research topic. He hesitated before letting you in, his hand lingering on the doorknob as if debating whether this was a mistake.

Once inside, the air between you was charged. He sat across from you, his hands folded on the desk, but his gaze flickered to your lips more than once as you spoke.

When you handed him a stack of notes, your fingers brushed, and he pulled back quickly, too quickly.

“Sorry.” He murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

You smiled, leaning forward just enough to close the space between you. “It’s okay.”

For a moment, his composure faltered. His eyes locked onto yours, and the tension was unbearable. You could see it in his face—the war he was waging within himself.

Then, just as quickly, he stood, turning his back to you as he busied himself with a stack of papers on the shelf. “Your analysis is impressive,” he said, his tone suddenly distant. “You’re clearly passionate about the subject.”

The shift was jarring, but it only solidified your resolve. He wasn’t rejecting you. He was protecting himself.

That evening, you stayed late in the library, poring over the materials he had assigned. As you packed up to leave, you noticed a familiar figure in the far corner. He was seated at a table, his long fingers flipping through a thick volume, his expression distant.

You froze, your heart pounding. He hadn’t noticed you yet. For a moment, you considered leaving, but the pull was too strong.

You approached slowly, the sound of your footsteps drawing his attention. When he looked up, his eyes widened slightly, a flicker of something unguarded crossing his face before he composed himself.

“Staying late?” He asked, his voice calm, but his fingers tightened on the edge of the book.

You nodded, setting your bag down on the table. “I could ask you the same thing.”

He gave a faint smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “I find the library... peaceful.”

“Me too.” You said softly, taking a seat across from him.

The silence that followed was heavy, filled with the unspoken tension that had been building for months. His eyes flicked to yours, then away, as if he couldn’t decide whether to meet your gaze or avoid it entirely.

Finally, he cleared his throat. “You should be careful, you know. Spending so much time in my office, lingering after class—it’s not... appropriate.”

Your heart twisted at the words, but his tone was anything but stern. It sounded like a warning, but it felt like a confession.

“Do you want me to stop?” You asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he looked down at his hands, his fingers flexing as if resisting the urge to reach for something—or someone.

“It’s not about what I want.” He said finally, his voice strained.

But it was. You could see it in the way his shoulders tensed, in the way his gaze lingered on you when he thought you weren’t looking. He wanted you just as much as you wanted him. He was just better at pretending otherwise.

The next day, during his lecture, you felt his eyes on you more than usual. He paced the room as he spoke, his hands gesturing animatedly, but every so often, his gaze would drift to you, his words faltering for the briefest moment before he recovered.

It was intoxicating, knowing you could unravel him like this.

After class, as the other students filtered out, you stayed behind, your heart racing as you approached his desk.

“Dr. Reid,” you began, your voice steady despite the storm brewing inside you.

He looked up, his expression unreadable. “Yes?”

You hesitated, searching for the right words, but before you could speak, he sighed, running a hand through his hair.

“You’re relentless.” He said softly, almost to himself.

The words sent a shiver down your spine.

“I just want to understand you.” You said, stepping closer.

He shook his head, a faint, almost bitter smile playing on his lips. “You already understand too much.”

For a moment, neither of you moved. The space between you felt impossibly small, the air thick with tension. You could see the struggle in his eyes, the way he fought to maintain control, but you also saw the flicker of something darker, something he couldn’t quite suppress.

And in that moment, you knew: this wasn’t over.

It was only just beginning.

It started innocently enough—at least, that’s what you told yourself.

The male student, a classmate you barely knew, had approached you after lecture to ask about the upcoming project. His name was Ethan, and while he was polite and charming, you couldn’t muster much interest in the conversation. Still, you smiled and nodded at his jokes, your polite laughter echoing in the near-empty hall.

Unbeknownst to you, Dr. Reid had lingered behind, tidying up his desk and organizing his papers. His sharp ears caught the sound of your laughter, a melody he had grown far too familiar with—and possessive of.

He looked up to see you standing near the doorway, your body language relaxed as Ethan leaned in slightly, his tone conspiratorial. Spencer’s grip on the edge of the desk tightened.

Ethan’s laugh was loud, too loud, as if he wanted to broadcast how much he enjoyed your company. Spencer’s jaw clenched. He knew this was ridiculous. He was your professor, and it wasn’t his place to interfere with your social life. But the sight of another man so close to you, taking liberties he couldn’t, made his blood boil.

When you glanced back into the classroom, likely to gather your things, your eyes met Spencer’s. For a fleeting moment, his mask slipped, and you saw something dark and raw flicker across his face. It was gone just as quickly, replaced by his usual calm demeanor, but the image stayed with you.

“Everything alright, Dr. Reid?” You asked, stepping inside and leaving Ethan to wait by the door.

Spencer straightened, clearing his throat. “Yes. Just... finishing up.”

Ethan peeked his head in. “Ready to go?” He asked, his tone casual but his presence invasive.

Spencer’s eyes darted to Ethan, then back to you. “You should be careful with your time,” he said, his voice quiet but pointed. “The project deadline isn’t as far off as it seems.”

You frowned, confused by the sudden shift in his tone. “I’ll make sure to stay on top of it.”

His gaze lingered on you for a moment longer, as if debating whether to say more. Instead, he turned his attention back to his desk, his movements stiff and deliberate.

The next few days were marked by a subtle shift in Spencer’s behavior. During lectures, his eyes seemed to find you more often, but they were no longer soft or conflicted. There was an intensity to his gaze now, a quiet possessiveness that sent shivers down your spine.

When Ethan approached you again after class, Spencer’s reaction was immediate.

“Miss L/N.” He called out, his voice carrying across the room.

You turned, surprised to see him still at his desk. “Yes, Dr. Reid?”

“Could you stay for a moment? I’d like to discuss your recent paper.”

Ethan hesitated, clearly waiting for you, but Spencer’s sharp gaze left no room for argument. “I won’t keep her long.” He said smoothly, though his smile didn’t reach his eyes.

Ethan nodded reluctantly. “I’ll catch you later.”

As soon as the door closed behind him, Spencer’s demeanor shifted. He stood, his tall frame looming as he approached you.

“Is he bothering you?” He asked, his tone casual but his eyes anything but.

“Ethan? No, not at all. Why would you think that?”

Spencer’s lips pressed into a thin line. “He seems... persistent. I just want to make sure you’re not feeling pressured.”

You couldn’t help but smile, amused by his sudden protectiveness. “I’m fine, Dr. Reid. Really.”

He nodded, but his expression didn’t soften. “Good. I’d hate to see someone distract you from your potential.”

The words were innocent enough, but the way he said them—the way his eyes lingered on yours—made your breath catch.

It wasn’t long before his jealousy became harder to hide.

During a group discussion, Ethan made a point of sitting next to you, his arm brushing against yours as he leaned over to share his notes. Spencer’s gaze locked onto the interaction, his hand tightening around the marker in his grip until his knuckles turned white.

When Ethan made a joke and you laughed, Spencer interrupted sharply. “Let’s stay on topic, please. This isn’t a social hour.”

The class fell silent, startled by his uncharacteristic tone. You glanced at him, surprised by the edge in his voice. He avoided your gaze, turning back to the whiteboard with rigid movements.

After class, as students filtered out, he called your name again.

“I wanted to apologize,” he said, his voice softer now. “I was... out of line earlier.”

“It’s okay.” You replied, though you couldn’t hide your confusion.

He hesitated, his eyes scanning your face as if searching for something. “You have to understand,” he began, his voice dropping lower, “that I only want what’s best for you. Not everyone has your best interests at heart.”

“Are you talking about Ethan?”

Spencer’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t answer directly. “Just... be careful who you trust.”

The weight of his words hung heavy between you, and for the first time, you wondered if his concern was more than professional.

Later that evening, you found yourself thinking about him again, replaying the moments when his composure slipped, when his obsession peeked through the cracks. You didn’t know whether to be scared or thrilled.

But one thing was certain: Spencer Reid was unraveling, and you were the one pulling the thread.

The days that followed were an intricate dance of tension, each interaction with Dr. Reid pulling you closer to a dangerous edge. His jealousy, once simmering beneath the surface, began to bleed into every corner of your academic life, coloring the way he spoke to you, the way he looked at you, the way he made his presence impossible to ignore.

It started small.

Ethan asked you to partner up for a case study project, and though you agreed, the arrangement didn’t go unnoticed. During the next lecture, Spencer called on you repeatedly, his questions increasingly challenging, as if testing your limits. The rest of the class shifted uncomfortably, sensing the deliberate scrutiny, but you met his gaze head-on, refusing to falter.

Afterward, he lingered at the podium, watching as Ethan hovered near your seat, leaning down to talk to you. The sight made his stomach churn. He didn’t like how Ethan’s hand rested casually on the back of your chair, how his laughter seemed designed to draw your attention.

“Miss L/N, a word?” Spencer’s voice cut through the air, sharp and commanding.

“What’s this about?” You asked, crossing your arms.

He tilted his head, his gaze piercing. “I noticed you and Ethan are working together.”

“We are,” you said carefully. “Is there a problem?”

His jaw clenched. “No... as long as you’re confident he’ll contribute equally. He strikes me as the type to let others carry the weight of the work.”

You frowned. “That’s not fair. He’s been helpful so far.”

Spencer leaned in slightly, his voice lowering. “Helpful isn’t always the same as trustworthy. Just keep that in mind.”

You stared at him, the intensity in his tone sending a shiver down your spine. He wasn’t just warning you—he was staking a claim, subtle but unmistakable.

The breaking point came during a departmental mixer, an event meant to encourage networking among students and faculty.

You had hesitated to attend, but Ethan insisted, offering to walk you there. Spencer spotted you as soon as you entered, his sharp eyes narrowing when he saw Ethan’s hand at the small of your back, guiding you through the crowd.

He approached you moments later, his movements precise and deliberate. “Miss L/N, a pleasure to see you here.”

“Dr. Reid.” You greeted, your smile nervous under the weight of his gaze.

“And Ethan,” Spencer added, his tone clipped. “Enjoying the event?”

“Yeah, it’s great,” Ethan replied, oblivious to the tension. “I was just telling Y/N about a conference coming up in D.C. She’s thinking about attending.”

“Is she?” Spencer asked, his eyes locking on yours.

Ethan nodded. “I might go too. We could share accommodations to save on costs.”

The suggestion made Spencer’s blood run cold. His mind spiraled with images of you and Ethan alone, the boundaries he fought so hard to maintain crumbling under the weight of his jealousy.

“That won’t be necessary.” Spencer said abruptly.

Both you and Ethan blinked in surprise.

“I mean,” he added, forcing a smile, “it’s likely the university will have funding options available for individual accommodations. I’d be happy to look into it for you, Miss L/N.”

“Thank you, Dr. Reid.” You said slowly, sensing the undercurrent of his words.

Ethan opened his mouth to protest, but Spencer cut him off with a glance so sharp it left no room for argument.

Later that evening, Spencer’s restraint finally snapped.

You stayed behind after the mixer to gather your things, only to find him waiting for you outside the building. The night air was cool, but the tension between you burned hot.

“You didn’t have to wait.” You said, pulling your jacket tighter around you.

“I wanted to.” He replied, his voice low and steady.

You walked in silence for a moment, the quiet punctuated by the rhythmic click of your heels against the pavement.

“Why do you do it?” He asked suddenly.

“Do what?”

“Let him follow you around like that. Laugh at his jokes. Entertain his attention.”

You stopped in your tracks, turning to face him. “Ethan’s my classmate. I don’t see how that’s any of your concern.”

“It is my concern.” He said, stepping closer. “You don’t see the way he looks at you. The way he talks to you.”

“And how do you look at me, Dr. Reid?” The question slipped out before you could stop it, your voice trembling.

His breath hitched, his carefully constructed walls beginning to crumble. “You know how I look at you,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “You’ve known all along.”

The admission hung in the air, dangerous and electrifying. You stared at him, your heart pounding as he took another step closer, his presence overwhelming.

“This can’t happen.” He said, though his words lacked conviction.

“Then why are you here?”

He didn’t answer, but the intensity in his gaze spoke volumes. His hand twitched at his side, as if he was fighting the urge to reach for you. The distance between you felt razor-thin, and for the first time, you wondered who would break first.

The silence stretched between you, taut and electrifying. Spencer’s jaw tightened, and his hand briefly raked through his hair—a telltale sign of his internal struggle. He was balancing on the edge of control, teetering between his professionalism and the unrelenting pull you had on him.

“You should go home.” He finally said, his voice low but strained, as if forcing the words out against his own desires.

You didn’t move. Instead, you tilted your head, studying him with a boldness that matched his intensity. “Is that what you want?”

His sharp intake of breath gave him away. “What I want doesn’t matter.” He said, but his eyes betrayed him, dark with longing.

You stepped closer, drawn to the crack in his carefully curated armor. “It matters to me.”

“Don’t.” He warned, but the word lacked strength, a faint plea wrapped in desperation.

You hesitated, caught between the thrill of provoking him and the awareness of the risk you were taking. Still, the magnetic pull between you was undeniable. “If you really wanted me to stop, you wouldn’t be here right now.”

Spencer’s restraint snapped, just for a moment. He reached out, his hand hovering near your arm before he jerked it back as if burned. His expression twisted in frustration, his usual composure unraveling.

“You think this is a game?” He hissed, his voice harsh. “You don’t understand what you’re doing.”

“I’m not the only one doing it,” you shot back, emboldened by the fire in his eyes. “You can’t stand it when anyone else gets too close to me. Admit it.”

His silence was deafening, his jaw clenched so tightly you could see the faint twitch in his cheek.

“I see the way you look at me,” you continued, your voice softer now, almost coaxing. “It’s not just admiration, Dr. Reid. It’s something more.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” He muttered, turning away, but you caught the tremble in his voice.

“Then prove me wrong.” You challenged.

Spencer turned back to you, and this time, there was no mistaking the raw emotion in his gaze. “You want the truth?” He said, his voice dangerously soft.

You nodded, your pulse quickening.

“I think about you more than I should. I notice every detail—every time you laugh, every time you tuck your hair behind your ear. And when I see him talking to you...” He broke off, shaking his head. “It takes everything in me not to...”

“Not to what?” You pressed, your heart pounding.

His lips parted, but he seemed to catch himself, stepping back as if the space between you might restore his self-control. “Not to cross a line I can’t uncross…” He finally said, his tone heavy with regret.

But the heat in his gaze told a different story—a story of a man on the verge of losing himself to the very thing he’d been trying to resist.

The tension between you didn’t dissipate. If anything, it grew, seeping into every interaction like an unstoppable tide.

In class, his gaze lingered on you longer than was appropriate, his voice faltering slightly when he called on you. During office hours, his questions delved deeper, as if searching for something he couldn’t articulate.

But it was during a casual seminar that the cracks in his professionalism began to widen.

You had arrived early, taking a seat in the front row. As you flipped through your notes, Spencer entered the room, his eyes immediately seeking you out. He paused, visibly unsettled, before making his way to the podium.

As other students filtered in, Ethan arrived and, to your surprise, took the seat beside you. He leaned in, his tone light and teasing as he made some comment about the seminar topic.

Spencer’s expression darkened. He began the session, but his usual measured tone was tinged with an edge that made the room feel heavier. His eyes kept drifting to where you sat, his words sharper whenever he addressed you or Ethan.

When the seminar ended, Spencer was quick to dismiss the class.

The classroom emptied, leaving the two of you alone. Spencer stood behind the podium, his hands gripping its edges.

“What was that?” He asked, his voice tight.

“What was what?” You replied, feigning innocence.

“You know exactly what I mean.” His gaze pinned you in place. “Him. Sitting next to you. Acting like he—” He broke off, shaking his head as if trying to compose himself.

“Acting like what?” You pressed, stepping closer.

“Like he has the right to your attention,” Spencer snapped, his professionalism unraveling further. “He doesn’t. Not the way I...”

He stopped himself, his chest rising and falling with restrained emotion.

“Not the way you what?” You asked softly, your voice carrying a mix of curiosity and challenge.

His eyes burned with an intensity that made your breath catch. For a moment, you thought he might close the distance between you, shattering the boundaries he’d been clinging to.

Instead, he exhaled shakily and stepped back, running a hand through his hair. “This needs to stop.” He muttered, though the words seemed directed more at himself than at you.

But even as he said it, the tension between you was palpable, an invisible thread pulling you closer despite the chaos it threatened to unleash.

The air between you felt suffocating, charged with a tension that had been building for weeks. Spencer stood before you, his normally composed demeanor unraveling with every passing second. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, his jaw tight as he tried to steady his breathing.

“I’ve tried,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve tried to keep this professional. To keep my distance. But you...” He looked at you then, his gaze piercing and raw. “You make it impossible.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, a mix of exhilaration and fear coursing through your veins. “What are you saying?” You asked, your voice trembling.

“I’m saying that I can’t pretend anymore,” he admitted, his voice low and filled with something dark and desperate. “Every time I see you with him, every time I see you smile at someone else... I can’t stand it.”

You took a step closer, emboldened by the vulnerability in his confession. “Then don’t pretend.”

Spencer’s eyes darkened, his restraint crumbling as he closed the distance between you in an instant. His hands cupped your face, his touch firm but reverent, as though he’d been starving for this moment.

“You don’t know what you’re doing to me…” He murmured, his voice shaky with need.

“Then show me.” you whispered, your breath ghosting against his lips.

That was all it took. Spencer’s mouth claimed yours in a kiss that was as fierce as it was desperate. His hands tangled in your hair, pulling you closer as though he needed you to breathe. The kiss was everything—pent-up frustration, unspoken desire, and a need that had been simmering beneath the surface for far too long.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath ragged. “This is wrong.” He muttered, though his hands still gripped your waist, unwilling to let you go.

“We don’t have to tell anyone.” You countered, your voice soft but insistent.

Spencer’s eyes searched yours, and for a moment, you thought he might pull away. But then his resolve broke entirely. His lips found yours again, this time slower, more deliberate. It wasn’t just a kiss—it was a claiming, a declaration that you were his, consequences be damned.

Without a word, he guided you backward until you felt the edge of his desk against your hips. His hands roamed your sides, skimming over your curves with a possessiveness that sent shivers down your spine.

“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted this,” he admitted between kisses, his voice hoarse. “How many nights I’ve stayed awake, thinking about you. How hard it’s been to stay professional when all I want is to make you mine.”

“Then stop holding back.” You urged, your fingers clutching at his shirt as though afraid he might pull away.

Spencer’s response was immediate. His hands gripped your thighs, lifting you onto the desk with ease. His touch was everywhere—your hips, your back, your neck—each movement filled with a hunger that bordered on obsession.

“Tell me you want this.” He said, his voice low and commanding as his lips brushed against your ear.

“I want this,” you breathed, your hands tangling in his hair. “I want you.”

His eyes locked onto yours, dark and intense. “You have me,” he promised, his voice rough with emotion. “You’ve always had me.”

In that moment, the world outside ceased to exist. There were no rules, no boundaries—only the two of you, finally giving in to the undeniable pull that had been drawing you together all along.

He is the first to break the silence, his voice low and husky.

"Tell me what you want."

You hesitate for a moment, the words stuck in your throat. Then, quietly, you say, "I want you, Spencer."

He moves closer, his gaze never leaving yours. "Tell me exactly what you want."

You swallow, feeling your heart rate quicken. "I want you to touch me, Spencer."

"Where do you want me to touch you?" He murmurs.

"Everywhere." You whisper, leaning into his touch.

He traces his fingers down your neck, his touch featherlight. "Here?"

You nod, your breath hitching as his fingers ghost over your collarbone.

He moves his hands down further, trailing his fingers across your chest. "I need words, sweet girl."

"Yes," You breathe, feeling your arousal growing.

He hums in approval, hands moving lower still, caressing the curve of your breasts. "And here?"

"Yes…" You repeat, arching into his touch.

He cups your breasts through your shirt, squeezing gently. "What about here?"

"Please…" You whimper, your voice barely audible.

He leans in, his lips brushing against your ear. "What else do you want, Y/N? Tell me."

You can feel your face flushing, but you can't stop the words from tumbling out of your mouth. "I want you to take my clothes off, Spencer. I want you to touch me everywhere."

He lets out a soft groan, his hands moving to unbutton your shirt. "God, Y/N. I've wanted you for so long."

Your shirt falls to the floor, leaving you exposed. His eyes roam over your body, hungrily taking in every inch of bare skin.

"You're so fucking beautiful." He murmurs, his fingers tracing patterns across your stomach.

You gasp as he leans in and presses a kiss to your neck, his tongue darting out to taste your skin. His hands move lower, dipping below the waistband of your jeans.

"Spencer…" You moan, your hips bucking against his touch.

"Yeah, baby? What is it, sweet girl? Tell me what you need." He breathes, his fingers dancing along your inner thigh.

"I need you." You whimper, desperate for more contact.

He pulls away from you, his hands moving to undo his belt. He pulls his pants down, his hard cock springing free. Tip flushed pink, the same shade as his swollen kiss-bruised lips. He grabs your hips and lifts you onto the desk, his body pressed against yours.

"Is this what you want?" He asks, his voice rough with desire.

"Yes." You gasp, wrapping your legs around his waist.

He pushes his cock against your entrance, his eyes locked on yours. "Say it, Y/N. Say you want me."

"I want you, Spencer." You moan, feeling him slide into you.

"Fuck, Y/N," he groans, thrusting into you. "You're so tight."

You cling to him, your nails digging into his back as he drives into you, again and again.

"Feels s’good." You babble, feeling the tip of his cock deep in your cervix, his hand coming down to rub calculated circles on your clit.

Spencer was a man of logic, of knowledge. But nothing could have prepared you for how skillful his hands could be in such a sinful context, hands you’d spent hours marking into the pages of your notebooks.

He fucks you harder, his pace frantic. "Such a pretty pussy, Y/N." He groans, dipping his head into your neck to nip at your skin.”My pretty pussy.” He delivers a quick slap to your pussy, sending a shock of pleasure through you, clit throbbing painfully.

"Oh, god, Spencer…" You cry, your orgasm quickly approaching, unable to stop it no matter how much you want to prolong the feeling.

“You wanna cum for me, baby? Cum all over my cock?” He stares down at you with a look you know will be ingrained in your mind for as long as you breathe.

It doesn’t take long before your orgasm crashes over you, pulsing through you in waves, back arching off the bed as you reach out for anything to ground yourself. Hands finding the back of his head, pulling him into your chest.

He follows soon after, his cock pulsing inside you as he empties himself into you, collapsing on top of you, his chest heaving.

You look up at him, your eyes bright with satisfaction. "Do you think it was worth it?"

He smiles, stroking your hair. "I’d do it all again if it meant I could have you this way just one more time."

The first rays of dawn filtered through the blinds of Spencer’s apartment, casting faint golden stripes across the room. You stirred slightly in his arms, your body cocooned in the warmth of his embrace. Spencer had always been a light sleeper, but he hadn’t moved all night. His arms remained securely around you, as if even in sleep, he was afraid to let go.

For a moment, the world was still, the only sound was the gentle hum of the city waking up outside. In the quiet, you allowed yourself to revel in the stolen tranquility. These moments were fleeting, precious—time you carved out in secret, hidden from the eyes of the world.

“You’re awake.” He murmured, his voice low and rough with sleep.

You tilted your head back to look at him, a smile tugging at your lips. “So are you.”

“I don’t think I slept much,” he admitted, his fingers brushing idly along your arm. “It’s hard to sleep when I know every moment with you has to be hidden.”

You frowned slightly, guilt tugging at you. “I hate it too,” you said softly. “I hate that we have to pretend in class, that I can’t just... be with you without worrying who might see.”

His hand tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his eyes. They were warm, but behind the softness lay a steel determination. “It’s not forever,” he promised. “The semester is almost over. Once you’re no longer my student, no one can question us. No one can tell me it’s wrong to feel this way about you.”

You leaned into his touch, comforted by his words but still anxious about the risks. “Do you ever think about what would happen if someone found out?”

“Every day,” he admitted without hesitation. “But I think about losing you more. And that’s a risk I can’t take.”

The weight of his confession settled over you, heavy and grounding. You reached for his hand, lacing your fingers with his. “I’d risk it all for you, Spencer. You know that, right?”

He nodded, his expression softening as he brought your hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles. “I know. And I’d do the same for you. But until it’s safe, we have to be careful.”

The reminder of the outside world, of the boundaries you had to navigate, was sobering. Yet it didn’t dampen the connection between you. If anything, it strengthened your resolve.

Days in class were an intricate dance of restraint and subtlety. You sat in your usual spot, taking notes diligently as Spencer lectured at the front of the room. His demeanor was calm, professional, every word deliberate. To the untrained eye, he was simply your professor, and you, his attentive student.

But beneath the surface, every glance, every fleeting moment of eye contact held a world of unspoken words. When he paused to scan the room, his gaze lingered on you a fraction too long. When he walked past your desk, the faintest brush of his presence sent a shiver down your spine.

After class, you remained behind under the pretense of asking a question. The other students filed out, their chatter fading as the door closed behind them.

Spencer glanced at you, his professional mask slipping slightly as he leaned against the desk. “Is this about the assignment?” He asked, his tone neutral but his eyes betraying a flicker of warmth.

“No,” you admitted, lowering your voice. “I just... I wanted to see you.”

His lips curved into the faintest hint of a smile, and he nodded toward the door. “Wait for me outside. I’ll finish here and meet you in the library.”

The library had become your haven, a place where the world’s watchful eyes couldn’t reach you. Tucked away in the farthest corner, surrounded by shelves of dusty books, you found refuge in each other’s company.

Spencer sat across from you, his hand resting lightly over yours on the table. “You know,” he said quietly, his voice barely audible over the hum of the library, “this hiding... it’s maddening. But there’s something exhilarating about it too.”

You raised a brow, your lips quirking into a teasing smile. “Oh? Dr. Reid enjoys breaking the rules?”

A low chuckle escaped him, his fingers brushing against yours. “When it comes to you? I’ll break every rule there is.”

The weight of his words settled over you, and for a moment, you simply looked at him, your heart swelling with a mix of love and longing. “One more month,” you whispered. “Then no more hiding.”

“One more month,” he echoed, his voice filled with quiet determination. “And then I’ll make sure everyone knows you’re mine.”

Until then, you would continue this delicate balancing act, cherishing the stolen moments and weathering the secrecy together. Because in the end, he was worth it. And you knew that no matter how many rules you had to break, how many boundaries you had to navigate, you would never let him go.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fic #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds x reader #bau x reader #spencer reid smut x reader #missarchive

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astrofaeology · 23 days ago

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Jupiter in the Houses

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ᡣ𐭩 Please support me by reposting, liking, following me and commenting your placement. Jupiter is a slow moving planet yet it does show have a important and significant inpact on your moral stance and deep rooted belief systems

1st house With Jupiter in the 1st House, which is the house of self and identity, people radiate optimism and good fortune as well as a very generous spirit. They project an out going and charismatic presence, often come off as larger than life, and also have a natural ease in making a great first impression which in turn brings about growth that is very much tied to personal development and self belief.

2nd house In the 2nd house which is that of personal resources and values Jupiter is in which brings about very lucky relationships with money and material things. We see that these people have easy access to finance, they attract great abundance, are very giving with what they have, and they find that which grows from wise investment and from a strong self worth and financial security.

3rd house When Jupiter is in the 3rd House of communication, short trips, and siblings it bestows people with large minds, a love for learning, and excellent communication skills. We see that they put forth great effort in networking, in education, and in putting forth their ideas which in turn they do so with which they have very good results in their relationships with siblings and immediate community.

4th house Jupiter in the 4th House is a placement which rules home, family and emotional bases, which in turn presents very fortunate and supportive home lives for these people often also very large or open family structures. We see that which they put out into the world is very much rooted in their home life, and also they may see great fortune related to property or heritage, which in very large doses they feel very supported and very secure.

5th house In the 5th House which is the domain of creativity, romance and children Jupiter is present which bestows great creative talent, a very positive approach to life, and success in love. We see growth via artistic endeavors and playfulness and also may note that they have a lot of children or issues related to them; they have a very giving and fun spirit.

6th house In the 6th House Jupiter is which rules over daily routines, work and health which in turn brings about good fortune in employment and a strong tendency toward service. These people find growth in their work which may be in health care or some helping profession also they tend to enjoy good health but at the same time may at times overwork or put off the small things.

7th house When Jupiter is in the 7th house which is the house of partnerships and also of open enemies it brings about great fortune and growth via relationships which include marriage and business partnerships. These people tend to draw in very supportive and lucky partners and we see growth through cooperation, fairness and a very harmonious approach to one on one interactions.

8th house In the 8th House Jupiter is which is a rule over shared resources, intimacy, and transformation which in turn presents opportunities via inheritances, joint finances, or the resources of others. Also in this position people grow via looking into psychosomatic issues,, they improve their standing in power dynamics, and they embrace large scale transformation which in turn draws support from others during crisis.

9th house As the primary player in this area Jupiter’s placement in the 9th House which rules higher education, philosophy, and long distance travel indicates a great affinity for knowledge, adventure, and spiritual growth. In this location we see that which is of great value to Jupiter growth via higher learning, foreign cultures, and the development of a wide philosophical base.

10th house Jupiter in the 10th House which is the domain of career, public image, and reputation brings great success that which also includes recognition and public respect. Also these people find they have access to great career growth, put in for leadership roles, and achieve a very respected social standing, which in turn puts them on a path to great influence and also a very positive public image.

11th house In the 11th House which is the home of friends, groups and hopes Jupiter is present which blesses individuals with many supportive friends and favorable associations. They do see growth and success through their social circles, group affiliations and in a very strong sense of community and humanistic ideals.

12th house In the 12th House Jupiter which is a house of the subconscious, secret matters and spirituality often plays a quiet yet very present and beneficent role in people’s lives that which of often is that of a protective and peaceful influence. Growth in this is through deep reflection, spiritual practice, and service which is filled with compassion also often they are born with strong intuitions and what may be considered a secret fortitude which in turn helps them to over come challenges.

DISCLAIMER: This post is a generalisation and may not resonate. I recommend you get a reading from an astrologer (me). If you want a reading from me check out my sales page.@astrofaeology private services 2025 all rights reserved

#astr #astro notes #astro community #astro observations #astrology #astroblr #jupiter astrology #jupiter

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redladydeath · 1 year ago

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Vox's attention span and short-term memory are completely destroyed. He's basically stuck in a perpetual state of channel surfing, never being able to stay focused on anything for more than a few minutes. It’s so severe that he'll even forget things that have been said to him/instructions someone's given him within the same conversation. "Alastor" and "the 1950s" are the only two subjects that remain constant in his memory, followed distantly by "You are dead and in Hell.” Occasionally, he'll simply forget his demon name and will only respond to his birth name.

When Alastor doesn't need him or just doesn't want to deal with him at the moment (he goes back and forth on whether he regrets doing this to him or not), he'll send Vox off to go explore Hell's electrical grid. It's an easy way to keep him occupied since everything's always new and interesting and stimulating for him, no matter how many times he does it. The denizens of Hell have become very used to the Television Demon occasionally interrupting their shows for a few minutes with random nonsense before shooting off to go bother some other poor sap; he's not corporeal most of the time and is under the Radio Demon's protection, so there's not much they can do about it, regardless of how annoying it is.

You know that theory where Niffty is a former overlord who Alastor chose to brainfuck instead of killing for whatever reason?

Someone make an AU/fic where he does that to Vox

#in my mind this would've happened in the 1960s-70s before vox had the chance to meet val #but if the vees dynamic is your Thing this could also happen in the modern day #and velvette and val have to care for their mentally destroyed friend while alastor just peaces out #satisfied with the knowledge that vox will never step to him again #randomly accessed memories (RAM)

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archive-doll · 1 month ago

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Oh, sweet neighbour. III

Johnny Mactavish x f!reader.

SYNOPSIS: Johnny tries to be a gentleman, but god, you are so delectable.

MDNI 18+ ONLY CW: the military and inaccuracies. you're pregnant, that's a warning on its own. takes place in Scotland, AU where Johnny is forcibly retired and finds a new obsession. hints of dom/sub dynamic. Hints of child abuse/neglect. Kyle x Johnny is mentioned, if you squint. Slightly angsty. Mention of John. Pet names are used - hen, bonnie, lass. He gets a hard-on. FLUFF M'eudail means dearest/darling apparently. I hope so, at least.

Have mercy on my grammar, English is not my first language.

AUTHOR NOTE: we're getting there! some intimacy and vulnerability as you two progress in your fresh relationship(?).

PREV. MLIST

The rough knocks on your front door don’t startle you as you roam in your living room, unable to sit for long when you're on the phone. Leo barks once, the old dog wagging its fluffy tail behind him, while he raises his head toward the door.

You're not worried. You know who it is now. Johnny.

Your feet are kept warm in your slippers as you walk to the door, and you frown, listening to the employee on the phone. Your eyes flicker as you turn the key to the side before pushing the handle down to find him. That familiar twirl in your chest comes back to life, little thing, at the sight of him enveloped in his coat.

"Hey." You murmur, your phone sliding away from your mouth for a moment.

There is no thought in your head when you shift your weight onto your toes, lifting yourself enough so that your mouth can press a chaste kiss on his jaw. His beard tingles, and you fall back on your feet with a smile before turning away. Drew back by that damn phone call.

"So, you are telling me you cannot come today, yes?" You repeat, hearing the door being kicked back. You turn towards Johnny with a sigh as you listen to the older man on the phone, giving you his apologies. "No, it's alright, I - I understand. Goodbye."

Johnny's coat is resting by yours on the wall when you cut the call. It's not their fault, and you know that, but it doesn't mean it's not frustrating. A little family business was supposed to come and take a look at the electric wires going around your house, because the lights keeps flickering. But your appointment will have to be postponed. They were a strong thunderstorm yesterday, south in the county, and some roads are now flooded.

"Wha' is it, bonnie?"

"They can't come. Roads are not accessible because of the storm." You mumble, placing your phone down before pinching the arch of your nose.

Everything had been going so well for you in the last few days. Under Johnny's firm recommendation - ignored demand, really - you had someone come and check on your multiple fireplaces. Before the end of the day, they were cleaned and are now safe to use and well-maintained, and now, you know how to safely utilise them.

Then, due to Johnny's organisation and surprisingly wide knowledge, your kitchen seems anew. No squeak or screeching sounds can be heard anymore, and you even had the time to paint the doors blue while Johnny took care of the island counter, sanding and varnishing it clean.

You went, with your new shadow, to that damn slaughterhouse, and got two mares for barely anything. They were going to be slaughtered, and Mister Graham generously lended you his trailer for you to take them home. It's been three days now, and they are already growing comfortable at your presence, after long hours passed by their side.

Everything was going so well.

"Ey, ey now, lassie." Johnny hushes you at the first sound of your sniffle. It's impossible to miss it.

He had already seen the signs when you opened the door, the way your shoulders are curled forward as if to hide into yourself and disappear. That little crease in your brows, which means anxiousness. That little pinch in the right corner of your mouth, hiding your displeasure and gloom.

But he sees it. Johnny sees you. He barely makes anything sound, even though it feels like rushing through fire and swiftly comes by your side, before you can feel his hands settle on your shoulders.

"It's stupid, isn't it?"

"Nah, not stupid." He hums back to you, fingers gently kneading at your shoulder. Without another word, you're surrounded by his warmth.

You don't resist as he strokes his knuckles down your spine, making you nestle closer, deeper into him while you rest your cheek on his chest.

Your fingers curl at the edge of his jumper when he places his hand by your nape. Johnny does that often when you get overwhelmed or apprehensive. It helps in settling you, he noticed. His thumb caresses your skin, that little part right behind your ear, a soft spot, and you sigh, already feeling comforted by his simple sign of affection. You're not alone anymore. That's what he tells you.

"Let's go out, aye? Ye said ye need tae go buy some food."

"Mhm. And there's that thrift shop that I wanted to go visit."

He grunts in answer, his nose skipping over the crown of your hair. Your slippers move on the ground, settling in between his boots as you squeeze your arms around his chest, hands finding refuge on the slope of his shoulders. Eyes close, you bask in it - the security he offers you. The stability he brings into your life, someone to lean on. Someone to talk to when you worry, to share your joy with.

"Go into the car, a'right? I'll go get the bags for ye."

Johnny knows it unsettled you when you don't pipe up a word at his word. Usually, you tend to put up a fight or always think of something else to do before, so you're not simply sitting down while he does the work. Your words, not his. But you only give him a little shake of your head, accepting, and he feels his heart throb in reaction. He would rather have your banter and disapproving frown than this version of you. Dejected, and your pretty mouth curled down.

If it were up to him, you would always wear a smile. Probably nothing more, too.

"C'mon now, hen." His hand pats the end of your back, and you grasp at his shoulders one more time before moving away.

While that's inconvenient, it could be a nice change of pace for you. To go out for once, and think of yourself for a little bit. He pushes a few plastic bags into one, checking to see you putting the little yellow raincoat on, almost ready to go. His eyes find the silhouette of your handbag, and he grabs it before finding himself locking your front door.

You've finally taken up residence now. There are no more bags in your room. A few paintings on the wall of your staircase. Cooking books are well-ordered in a little library he found for you, close to your fridge and one potted plant. He can always see a novel on the low table now, in the living room. And, always, there's a pair of dark blue slippers waiting for him at the entrance. Your home finally looks like one.

It took a few words or persuasion, not that you're difficult to convince, and he even put more bolts on your front door and the back one. The 80s curtain went into the trash after you discovered some mold one morning. Not that you know, but his plan to make you change your windows is doing well. And, your stairs don't make a noise when he sneaks in.

You're sitting behind the wheel when he approaches the car, yours, and you can only laugh when he frowns at you, with his arm in a cast.

"You can't drive, Johnny, you know that."

"Dinnea need yer reminder." He grumbles, watching your joy bubble up when he circles around the car.

Before you could even roll out of the land, Johnny is fiddling with the radio. Your eyes flicker across his frame, still trying very hard to ignore how beautiful and kind he is. Your hands squeeze around the wheel when your eyes find his lap, strong thighs pushing into the jeans until it's tight. You never thought you'd end up with a lumberjack kind of neighbour, a retired military guy who grumbles, offended when you're trying to do anything by yourself.

You snort at the memory of him, almost gasping out loud when he'd seen you vacuum the kitchen three days ago. It was so dramatic how he stomped toward you and gently took your hands away before starting to do the household chores all by himself.

"Wha'?"

"Nothing. Just, for a big guy like you, you can be very - theatrical." You snicker, and he turns toward you, eyes sharp and pinched as he gazes you up and down as you accelerate.

"Wha' does tha' even mean?"

"What I just said."

"Dinnea be cheeky with me now."

Your shoulders shake as you giggle before a jolt take over you when his fingers pinch your thigh. Your eyes widen, indignant, and you gasp out his name in a whine before you strike at him, knuckles hitting into the broadness of his chest. He chuckles, catching your wrist easily and does that thing again, rubbing his thumb over your nail polish.

"Wan' tae stop and do yer pretty nails again?"

"Mhm? Oh, yeah, maybe. What will you do while I'm there?" You say, surprised by his proposition, feeling that tingle in your belly when you feel him fidget with your palm a little more.

"Wha' d'ye mean? I'll be with ye."

You blink his way, hearing the calm in his tone as if it's obvious, the only option, the only choice there is for him. To stay by your side and share the moment with you. You look forward again, shifting slightly the wheel of your car before your fingers curl around his hand. It's quiet, and none of you say anything about it when he circles his thumb across your knuckles, following the bones there.

The rest of the drive is filled with chatter, as it is usually between the two of you. He has been trying to teach you Scottish - even some Gaelic - but your pronunciation is deeply concerning, apparently. His face curls and recoils as if you've pained him each time you try to repeat the words. You find it absolutely delightful.

You barely have time to unclasp your seatbelt when he's opening your door. His palm finds your elbow, curling around it as you turn in your seat, feet finding the muddy ground. He fastens the zipper of your coat, using his casted hand under your disapproving eyes until you're warm and snug. Johnny shifts enough to cover you from the rain until you've put your hood on.

The motion is imperceptible, you don't even notice it, like a lot of other little things he does for you.

"Where d'ye want to gae first?"

"Thrift shop, maybe the library after?"

"Aye." He nods, a firm hand pushing the car door close before you lock it absentmindedly, eyes flickering around the streets.

You only came in passing before, not feeling quite like you belonged there, and barely understanding most people you'd cross paths with. You knew it would be hard, moving to another country and perfecting the language there while learning to decipher the different accents and slang words you come across. But you never thought it could make you feel so lonely.

But with Johnny by your side, it's different. First, because no one looks at you when this handsome man walks by your side, too distracted by his opalescent eyes and that swag he possesses with each step. And because you know no one will ever approach you when he glares at everyone like that. Not that they would try, anyway, with how intimidating he looks these days.

You stroll around the village quietly, Johnny taking position between the street and you. One hand lay on the roundness of your tummy, and the other grazed his own with every few steps, fingers twitching each time he traces his index along the length of your palm. It's soft, how he reminds you he's here, by your side. And he isn't planning on leaving either.

A little bell dings when Johnny pushes the door open, watching you step inside the warm place before letting it fall close. It smells a bit dusty and old, like your grandma's house when you were a kid. An employee greets you behind her desk, and you give her a little wave before disappearing between the aisles.

You didn't come to Scotland with a lot of belongings. Actually, most of your wardrobe was left behind; only keep what was necessary or items you had an attachment to. Like a majority of your possessions. Now that you're pregnant, you need some clothes, ones that you can actually wear. Your eyes flicker as you walk around, humming to yourself when you pass by the skirt aisle. There are a few that you like, either the pattern adorning it or the material, and place them in your little bag.

"Why don't ye go about, I'll hold tha' for ye."

"You sure? Don't you want to look around?" You ask, finding Johnny standing by your side as his fingers already curl around the handle, taking the bag for you.

"I am. Gae on, hen." He reassures you with a little tilt of his chin.

Your hand passes down his forearm, squeezing his wrist gratefully before you look back.

You find a few more long skirts before you move away. Each time your feet lift from the ground, Johnny copies your motion, following you around. Never allow himself to leave your side. The pants, well, that's another difficult task to complete. You place the hem by your waist and rub your fingers on the tissue, but you can't find anything you really like apart from two pairs of baggy jeans. It's probably out of style now, but that doesn't matter.

Johnny can't seem to look away for too long. He's battling between two instincts - one ordering him to stay by you and the other one prickling at his nape until he stares around, making sure the exits are free if needed. It's a habit he can not seem to shake, though he isn't trying. No one told him how alien civilian life would be when they forcefully pushed him out of the Army.

But his head always turns back to you. He feels slightly out of place as you give a once over to the dresses, but he takes a breath between his teeth and focuses on you.

You take one out of the aisle, turning it to find the back free, gently dipping down to what you assume would be your hips in a gentle curve. Another one you choose, a black little thing and a denim dress that will fall to mid-thighs at best. You consider it, lips curling in a pensive pout before deciding you'll take it.

"Wha' else d'ye need?" Johnny asks you, pushing the bag your way to discard you of the articles.

"Jumper, tee-shirt- all of it. I didn't take much with me."

His dark eyebrows curl down as he ponders your words, rolling them around in his head. You haven't spoken yet about your past, only giving information to feed his paranoid mind, but never more than what was needed. That's another intriguing piece of the puzzle that is you. One he is intent on resolving.

You don't think much of it as Johnny watches you fly around, the bag getting more and more heavy with each piece of clothing you want to take home with you. You even find a jumpsuit with a little heart on the back that you immediately fall in love with. He finds the sight of you, gushing about some clothes, very charming. But Johnny can't stop going back to it.

Why would you leave all that you know, all your friends and family, your house, your job, to come bury yourself in one little remote village in Scotland? Gods know he could barely consider the idea when he was in the hospital. And then later, when he wander around helplessly. It might be half due to his professional deformation and the other half because of his slithering fascination for you, but Johnny starts to get slightly apprehensive, not knowing.

"Did'ye left someone behin'?"

The question takes you by surprise, as you are looking into the coat section, searching for one that falls to your knees. Your hands still, as his soft voice twirls around the both of you, eyes staying right in front of you. Johnny can read you easily, of course, seeing the discomfort as your soft hands tighten and twist the garment.

"My mother." You finally give him, eyes fleeting over your shoulders to find him.

"M sorry, lass."

"It's fine. She isn't very good. Or kind." The hushed words escape your mouth almost out of your control, and you shake your head a little, thinking about it.

"Nah?"

"No."

You can see his hands tightening and let out a little sigh. Folding the jumper between your hands, then turn around until you face him. Johnny is surprised not to find any sadness or hint of resentment. Instead, you stand there, with your admission, in peace with it. With that other fragment of yourself hanging in the air that you give him. Sweet little girl, always so good to him, even in your vulnerability.

"I'll tell you more if you tell me about you." You propose, with a little glint of challenge in your eyes.

It's a well-intended proposal. One who's fair and incredibly tempting. Because, while Johnny could definitely find any, and more, information he could want in a simple phone call, that's not what he should do. Or want to do. Honest, he thought about it. There are a lot of people who owe him a favour all across the globe with interesting positions.

But today, Johnny has a plan. To show you that he's reliable, a person of trust. One you can share your pain with and your joy. A shoulder you can lean on, a hand you can reach to. Today, Johnny wants to make that step with you - and open himself.

He can not tell you all of it. There are things that, even if he wished to share, he isn't able to. Confidential. Restricted. He has knowledge that could topple an empire. Tear apart one of the most powerful countries in the world and start a revolution. The crown would fall, and the head that holds it, too.

He wishes to share. Johnny wants to talk to you, and silently warns you of what you will choose if you decide to keep him in your life. The consequences. And what he wants to - need. He never searched for a relationship, satisfied with the entertainment and the lightness of meaningless hookups. Faces that didn't matter. Arms he could disappear into.

Until, them, of course. And then, well, betrayal. Silence, not even hearing his side, without a goodbye.

But you, oh, hen.

He craves more. Johnny needs you like air. It's more devotion than love, really. Something that simmers beneath his skin and twists at his gut. And while he knows it's not right, that it isn't a good foundation for what he wishes to build with you, it's the truth. He wouldn't sit by your side when you sleep if it weren't. He wouldn't drink in the sight of you like air - unable to breathe when he's away, if it weren't true.

Therefore, today, Johnny will do it right. Show you what he has to offer, what it would be if you allow him to be more than a very nice neighbour. Today, Johnny will be a gentleman, like John taught him to be around a pretty bird like you.

The face of the old geezer flashes in his mind, and his jaw clenches for a second before he focuses back on you. They don't deserve his lamentations. Not after what they did to him.

"Dinnae think ye would want to know more 'bout me, lass." He tuts, strolling forward until the tip of his boots grazes your coloured sneakers.

"Oh, so sorry, Sir. Where are my manners?" You answer back with a grin, leaning forward like the little tease that you are.

Johnny can feel his breath halt in his throat and the groans that threaten to take its place and shatter the silence of the thrift shop you are in. You flutter your lashes at him, soft eyes glistening with mirth, and his attention leisurely hitches toward the silhouette of you, leaning closer. His eyes are dangerously tempted to stroke down the swell of your breasts. Bloody hell, you're a sight.

"Course, I want to know more about you, Johnny." The words are pronounced like a gentle confession, something precious only for him to hear. "I have the feeling you're not planning on leaving, so."

His fingers covered with calluses, come and pinch your chin at your little taunt. His eyes linger down the lines of your features, carefully memorising it, the moment you both are in where you make another careful step in your relationship. You're a little bashful, he can tell, but you're making great efforts. He'll have to reward you for it.

"Find yerself mor' clothes, hen; then we'll talk." He promises, trailing the first knuckle of his index along your chin.

He trails behind you quietly unless you ask for his impartial opinion. The bag is full long before you make your way to the cash register. Johnny gently coaxed you into choosing that skirt you looked at earlier, and you feel his approving gaze while the kind woman passes your articles.

Johnny has half the mind to pay for you, his eyes flickering from the blue card in your fingers to the lady, but reels it in the need to be a provider. He has to be patient, slowly making you lean on him. And make you think it's your idea, too, with a few words and a gentle caress of his hand. He's certain you wouldn't need much discipline on this matter, but for now, he has to make you accustomed to him first.

It's with a particularly satisfied glow on your face that you step out of the third shop. You put a bit more money into making your wardrobe substantial than you had planned, but well, you deserve a little pick-me-up after today's change of plan. And Johnny's contented grumble of approval helps in making your decision easy to accept.

"Where tae now hen?"

"Nails?" You hum, looking at him for his approbation. You still wonder how this can be interesting for him, watching you decide between clothes, change your mind, or try some new shoes on, but don't dare to speak about it.

Not with how pleased he had seemed each time you asked for his opinion.

"Aye, let's dae tha'."

Your fingers twitch at the first glide of his touch on your palm before his hand cradles yours, engulfing it in his paw. Your heart picks up slightly, but you don't fight the feeling and the gentle shift between you. Instead, you side-step closer, giving him a genuine, happy smile in response.

"What colour should I do this time?"

"Dinnae. Red suit ye." Johnny mules over it, keeping your soft fingers firmly intertwined in his grip.

"Mhm. I don't want red again. And I have to cut my nails, can't get any work done with how long they are."

"Shouldnae worry 'bout it, hen." Johhny huffs, giving you a firm stare as you continue your slow stroll back to the car.

"Yes, yes," you sigh with a little nod of your head, amused by how disturbed he always finds the thought. "Should only enjoy life, sip on tea, and look pretty."

"Aye, ye should." He grunts in affirmation, and you watch with great enjoyment how he puffs out his chest, looking like a peacock parading.

"Johnny... I came here to make a good life for myself." You gently remind him, not taking offence at his demeanour. You know he doesn't mean it in a diminishing way.

It doesn't mean you agree with it, though you find it rather lovely, how firm he is in his opinion. That you should have a good life, a life that doesn't mean waking up at the crack of dawn, blistered hands, or being faced with any troubles. You should have the opportunity to relax at any given moment and partake in your hobbies, or simply entertain yourself as you wish.

"I know, hen." He sighs, too, squeezing your hand firmly to reassure you.

Truly, he admires that about you. Your independence, how you always want to do it all on your own. You have a quick whip about you, finding alternative to every problematic situation. But Johnny is starting to think you didn't become independent because you wanted to, and leans more toward the hypothesis that you didn't have a choice. Especially after what you just revealed to him about your mother.

That greatly angers him.

You deserve to be able to rest once in a while. And understand that you're not alone. Not anymore. Not as long as you keep him by your side.

"So, not red, and short." You mumble to yourself, as you look forward.

You were still thinking about it when you both entered the salon. The hostess welcomes you, and her voice stutters once she finally raises her eyes from her laptop and finds Johnny standing behind you, in all of his glory. You try to hide it, your smile, but can't resist the giddiness it brings you, knowing Johnny wants to be near you. Even for something as insignificant as your nail appointment.

"You must be - " You have to bite down your bottom lip to avoid giggling when she utters your last name while flickering her surprised eyes once more on Johnny.

"Yes, I am."

"Well, Miss Mark will be your esthetician today."

The elegant sound of her stilettos clicking on the ground echoes as she guides you further into the little shop. You're eagerly welcomed by Miss Mark, an older woman with beautiful grey hair, and you settle down in front of her desk with a warm smile on your face. It's not long before Johnny is seated by your side, one arm resting on the back of your chair as you chat with the esthetician, going over your ideas.

"Okay, so short nails and some soft pink cherry picnic tip." Miss Mark repeats your final decision, turning slightly to the side before grasping a few boxes. "Do you want some charms?"

"I would like a few yes, flowers maybe?"

"I can do that. Here, tell me which you like most."

You take the little box she slides on the desk, and absentmindedly shift toward Johnny as you go over her collection. You feel him before you see him, his chest pressing into your side, and his hand falls on your arm as he gazes over your shoulders at all the accessories. He doesn't speak, not yet, as you purse your lips, choosing first what colour would complement the nail art best.

"What do you think, Johnny?" You ask, fluttering your pretty eyes up at him, finding him much closer than you thought. A shudder runs down your spine when your nose grazes his chin, and you stutter back a few inches.

His fingers pat your upper arm as he stares down at the charms there that you placed down on the desk after a first sorting. You try to keep your manners, really, but your lips part when you take in his scent. A warm one, smell of firewood and a cologne you don't recognise. And his full beard, which he started trimming since he moved down the river, is making you needy for a touch.

"Like tha' one."

"The orchid?"

"Suit ye."

You gaze down at the flower with a smile, strangely embarrassed at his words, before feeling his palm rest just beneath your shoulder. Johnny presses his palm there, on your flesh, until you're nestled into his side, his frame engulfing you in his embrace. A chaste adoring peck is left on your temple as you rearrange the accessories, and you feel the flames lick at your cheeks in reaction.

You know Johnny can be quite affectionate, but it never happened in a public setting before. You don't mind the attention, of course not. You simply are too conscious of his presence, is all. You're pretty certain you can feel your heartbeat in your throat as you present the charms to the esthetician.

It's with no surprise that you find Miss Mark smiling at both of you, almost swooning at the view you must make. You know how it might appear, a pregnant lady and a sturdy man by her side. After all, Johnny was called your boyfriend twice today, and one told you, you made a good choice in marrying him. You had never stumbled so harshly on your words before, hands moving as you tried to find an answer to that, but Johnny, well.

He was preening. He is too now; you can feel it in how his body straightens in his chair.

"It's a nice lad you have here."

"Yeah." You sigh, not having the energy to say anything else.

And you don't exactly want to, your eyes shifting to find him, eyes crinkling under a prideful smile as being complimented on how well he provides for you. He almost reminds you of a dog, one whose tail wags so hard his whole body sways under the motions. You move in your seat and lay a hand on his knee, attracting his attention as you give him a grateful smile.

You might have the arguments or vigour to deny it if only for your own self-esteem, but you know all that Johnny does for you. He might not be your lad or your boyfriend, but well, you are still very lucky to have him either way.

"We don't have many lads come here with their girls. It's nice for once."

A simple smile is your answer to that as Miss Mark starts working on your free hand.

Fingers start running through your hair, gently adjusting your hairstyle as you start to chat with the kind woman. It's the usual question: where do you come from, and why did you come here, but it's a nice change to your now daily routine consisting of chasing after chickens and chores that exhaust you.

Both hands now resting in the UV machine, Johnny goes back over the list of all that you wanted to do before going back home. You definitely have to pass by the store so you can have a full fridge for the next two weeks, and then, well, Johnny wants to pass by that dog breeding farm a little further in the lands.

"We should go to the store first." You decide, gently moving your fingers under the blue lights. "But didn't make a list." You add, knowing they were something that you forgot to do before leaving home this morning.

"Can dae it now, don't fret, bonnie." He shushes you, a warm hand rubbing your shoulder lazily as he tugs his phone out of his pocket.

"Okay, then, I want to cook us some chicken for tomorrow's lunch. So thyme, onions, and garlic." You start then, leaning until your chin is pressed up against his bicep, watching with doe eyes, Johnny writing it all down.

"Potatoes, veggies." He hums after you, already knowing about the recipe since you told him about it three days ago. "And pepper, aye?"

"Yes, one of each." Your voice is sugary as you confirm his words, body melting into him, seeing how effortless he makes it all to be, caring about you.

"Aye. I'll make us som' cranachan on Sunday." He grumbles, too, his thick eyebrows frowning under his concentration as he adds a few more ingredients.

It's tranquil. You exchange ideas on recipes, asking each other what they want to eat next week. Your cheek rests on his shoulders, his left hand leisurely trailing to your wrist, where his hand settles as he finds your precious pulse. Johnny, watch, when you add a few more things to the list, and you wonder why no one has ever done this with you before.

Why did no one deigned to sit by you before and storm ideas on something so simple as next week's dishes? Your eyes shine as you admire his profile, your heart squeezing half in despair that you've been neglected for so long, and half in gratitude. You never knew how it would feel to be listened to. To find someone who cares for every word you share with them. There is a little burn on the back of your eyes as you snuggle into him deeper, a bit overwhelmed by the realisation that Johnny will do it for you.

Johnny would do that for you. All of it. From giving you ideas on your nail art to helping you get your new mare comfortable in your stable. He will bake you desserts without you needing to ask and support you through every struggle and hard decision you have to make. Johnny will stroke your hair as you doze off on your couch and make sure the fire is full enough for the rest of the evening. He will massage your sore feet and remind you to drink water during the day.

And he makes it look so easy, too. Like, if listening to you doesn't bother him. As if remembering what you said is not a hassle. Johnny shows you, without trying to, how serene it is to help you achieve your lifelong dream. And he does it all without you ever asking for anything. Without making you feel stupid or small.

When you step out of the nail salon, it's you who takes his hand in yours.

With Johnny pushing the cart around, you both stroll around between the aisles of the hypermarket. You only came here a few times before, so while Johnny is telling you of the next thing you are searching for, you look around, trying to understand where to go now.

All of the vegetables have been taken, and most of the meat too - you're planning on freezing a few pieces, just in case you can not drive up here because of the weather. Johnny spent such a long time in the fish sections, chatting up the employee so well he even got a discount. Almost half a bag has been invaded by the fish, the shrimps, and other seafood.

Then, when you went to choose yourself some self-care product, Johnny disappeared. You find him easily after that, multiple products in hand, with him standing there hands on his hips while looking at the strollers. You press a hand against the cart, putting down your creams and other cosmetics before joining him quietly.

In all honesty, you will need to buy one soon. The nursery is bare, and the pretty paper wall you had chosen on the internet is dry and secured, thanks to the man who is circling your waist with a burly arm. You're missing a lot of necessities, and it would do you some good to buy a little today, so you can start somewhere at least. Before, you didn't have the courage to do it or look into the enormous list you made when you first knew you were pregnant.

Now, that you are safe and not alone, you feel ready.

"I want one where you can take the carrycot off the stroller."

"Tha's would be better, aye. And a good harness." Johnny is lost in his thoughts, comparing every stroller presented in front of him as if dealing with a bomb. It almost makes you laugh.

"Mhm. We will need a car seat, too." You sigh, raising a hand to his chest, starting to feel excited about it. "Oh, and a high chair. Little spoons."

He huffs happily, eyes finding your delighted expression and circles your hip in his hand before pointing at one stroller, which looks made of rather good materials. You leave him, not before patting his chest mindlessly and walking closer so you can look at the price and then the description of the product. It's a rather hefty price, but the explanation of all the options almost convinces you.

"Wha' d'ye think?"

"Did you try it?"

"Nah. Was waitin' for ye." He says with a gentle shake of his head, before giving you a little shift up of his chin. You know what that means now. Go on hen.

The plastic is firm in your hold, and you take a step back, testing the wheels on the ground a few times. Backwards and forward. On the left, and on the right. Then, Johnny read you the instructions as you try taking off the carrycot, and it is easier than you expected it to be. Next, you observe Johnny fold it in a few motions. It went all so smoothly, and you watch him adjust it a few times, one hand stroking down your belly.

"Let's take it?"

Your eyes are shining when he pivots to face you, still holding into the stroller to find you there, smiling. Happy. Hopeful, too.

"Aye, hen." He nods, his voice low as you take his breath away.

In a few moments, you have chosen a bed made of good, strong wood that you can adjust in height and adapt to the age of your child as well than a highchair. You're surprised to find such a good quality product in a hypermarket, but comforted, too. Now, it seems real. Now, you're in a place where you are secure enough, financially and emotionally, to welcome your child.

When, with one hand circling his wrist, you take Johnny to the child section, you have to wonder who is the one expecting. He looks everywhere, more serious than you are in the quality and all the different options there are. Even the feeder, Johnny mules over it for quite a while. You end up buying three different nursing bottles of different capacities. Though you've decided long before meeting him to breastfeed your baby, there is nothing wrong with being farsighted.

Your cart contains much more than you were planning for, but as butterflies erupt in your chest, you can't really mind it. Between the bibs, the clothes that you chose, and the rest of it, two entire bags are overflowing with baby stuff. You can find in you to care, and even less when hearing Johnny whistle so joyfully as he filled your trunk, triumph painting his face.

"Now, where to?" You ask him as you put on your seatbelt, hearing him approaching the passenger door.

"I'll get ye ther'. Just drive out of the lot." He tells you as you twist the key into the ignition.

Once more, Johnny takes responsibility for the radio. And while most of the songs that are playing are unknown to you, you must say he has good taste in music. Mostly rock and some punk here and there. You hum the melody as you follow his instruction, Johnny looking at the map on his phone in between your conversation.

"Should ask me mother if she still hav' some of my bairn goods." He says after a moment as you concentrate on the driveway, the turns becoming sharper.

"Yeah?"

"Aye. Dinnae know her number so, I'll hav' to ask around."

You blink at the information, giving him a glance to find him relaxed in the car seat, eyes staying on the road. As always, his lap is as inviting as ever, but you barely notice it as you repeat the words into your head.

"You never talk about your family."

"Nothin' to say, hen."

"You mean nothing nice to say?" You ask again, slightly pushing, seeing the dark veil taking over his beautiful blue eyes.

His hair sways when he rolls his head to gaze at you, remembering your proposition in the thrift shop. He already knows he will say yes and accept it. After all, it could only bring you closer, and that is his objective. While, too, making you think it's your idea. It will give you an impression of control, though, really, with how he bends to your every wish, you might be.

"Aye. Left home when I turn'd eighteen."

"To enrol?"

"Yeh. Tried at sixteen, but they holdnae hav' me. The base was warmer than the old hag." He grumbles, thinking back to the times when he had to buy his own food or clothes when his parents forgot about his existence. He'd rather not get into the details just yet. "Wha' about yers?"

"My mom?" You say, glancing his way to find his piercing eyes staring at you as if investigating. "Well, she raised me by herself. Got cancer when I was young, dad left us then. Breast cancer. Always blamed me for it."

"Fokin' stupid."

Your lips tremble before you let out a laugh at the very tempestuous groan he lets out at your explanation, watching him fold his arms across his chest. The subject of your childhood is never a tender one. It never brings anyone a smile or a sweet sentiment. Unless you lie, of course, which you do sometimes when you don't want to get into it, or are not ready to share that part of you with a mere stranger, or people you don't trust.

But Johnny, well, you want to tell him the truth. Little by little, sure, but still. You want to be honest and sincere, and you're ready for someone to know you and see you, just as you are. You're simply lucky it's with good-hearted Johnny that you're doing it.

"On yer right, hen. Almost ther'."

You slow down as you turn the wheel, driving into a muddy path in the forest. It only takes you two minutes to see the large house there and the rest of the place. As soon as you open the door, you can hear them. The dogs. They must be expecting you because one grey-haired man comes to salute you as you zip up your coat, Johnny sliding your hood over your hair as you shake the man's hand.

"Well, hello, lov'. And you must be Johnny. I'm Angus."

"Aye. Nice tae meit ye."

"Well, come on, then, let me show you the dogs."

Angus is very kind, you find out. You had a lot of questions, a lot of ignorance too, about what a breeding farm entails, but he answers all of them, glad that someone is asking him about it so kindly. You're not certain you agree with the fundamentals of it, but you forget about it all when you first hear the little barks of the puppies.

A gasp leaves you before you're slipping away from Johnny, uncaring about the mud getting in your shoes or the cold wind that is making your teeth shake. Your hands settle on the fence as you look at them, all the little ones there, running around, digging into the ground, looking uncaring about the harsh weather of Scotland.

"Oh my god, Johnny, look!" You squeal, fidgeting on your feet as you gather some attention from the dogs.

"Aye, lass, I'm her'." Johnny chuckles, pressing his form into your back as he feels you fidget around, almost as excited as the little one running your way.

"They're about six weeks old, right now."

"What breed are they? They're so big already." You fawn over it, giggling when some start trying to climb the fence to come to you, waving at them with a bright smile.

"Irish Wolfhound, Ma'am. Make a good hunting dog, or a fine guard dog, too. What you're lookin' for, righ'?" Angus tells you, slightly bending over the fence, to come pet the puppies as he reveals the information to you.

Johnny is already looking away when you turn to face him, his hands pressing into the fence around you. You have to tilt your chin slightly to find him, blinking away the rain as he pinches his lips. You let out an amused scoff as he badly pretends to ignore you before you slap your hand over his chest, your knuckles hitting his guts gently.

You don't know if you're feeling slightly annoyed by his overprotective nature, or melting because of how much he cares for your security and well-being. The adrenaline isn't helping your fluttering mind either.

"Bad dog, Johnny." You murmur slightly, mocking, your hands settling under his coat to shelter themselves from the cold wind.

You feel him tense, a shiver running from his tailbone up to his nape. How his muscles tense against you, curling into a thick knot ready to be torn apart, and you grin his way, leaning into your toes to nudge your nose into his jaw. Johnny doesn't find it amusing at all, feeling how tight his breeches are starting to become as you snuggle your sweet body closer.

"Bonnie." He hisses low between clenched teeth, his mind circling around as if he is lacking oxygen.

Which he could be. As he nudges you away, one trembling hand curling around your hip, you turn the other way with a smile, already focusing back on Angus. His boots slide on the ground as he grunts low in his chest, the delicious arch of your back grazing his groins, hiding his vehement attraction from unwanting eyes. Steamin' bloody Jesus, you're going to kill him. And sooner than later, it appears.

You are not angry at him. You can't be, not while looking at the awkward little puppies trying to run around, already imagining taking one home with you. You get what Johnny is trying to do anyway. You chatted about it multiple times, the both of you, in passing. Or at least you thought, because Johnny doesn't seem to forget anything you say.

Leo is old, eight years old now, and while he will probably live another few years, having a younger pup might do him some good. And for the farm, you'll need a guard dog, probably even plural. You listen intently as Angus tells you all you need to know about Irish Wolfhounds, how tall they get in a few months, what their needs are - a lot of stimulation and land to cover - and what type of education suits them best.

"Wha' d'ye thin', hen?" Johnny whispers, his mouth grazing the sheel of your ear.

"How much?" You settle on saying, turning so you can look at Angus, curling one arm to hold onto Johnny's strong shoulders.

"For you, Ma'am, one mile."

"I'll take two." You say, raising your fingers with a grin.

Angus let out a little laugh, clapping in his hands before ushering you his way. You lose your shadow, but without looking behind you, you know that Johnny is close, probably overseeing the surroundings by the fence as you enter the little puppy area.

You barely have the patience to walk as you first step towards your house. The puppies are heavy already, big babies that yap sweetly and try to lick at your mouth as you hurry inside under Johnny's gratified laughter. It's hard work to close the door of the living room while holding to pup, but you do it anyway, leaving Johnny to do the heavy lifting.

The pitter-patter of their paws on the ground provides you with great delight. When Johnny comes bringing the first two bags in one hand - such a strong one he is - he finds you running around, barefoot, with some wet strand of hair flowing with you're every movement; he cannot stop smiling. It hurt almost to see you squeal when one comes running between your legs, one barking happily as they circle around you.

He's done many great things since he enrolled, all things considered. He built himself a life that is respectable by most. He's well seen and appreciated, too, though it might be different now, with the strain of deception haunting him. He has medals to prove some of his bravest acts, and became a man he can be, and is, proud of.

But nothing, ever, brings him more pleasure than seeing you like this. You're blooming now, head thrown back under your joyful laughter, so much that breathing hurts.

As he starts tidying up the purchases in the kitchen, Johnny finds himself distracted. You took it upon yourself to rearrange the living room with Angus' advice in mind and make it a good home for your new little ones. The giant bed takes up some space, and you try a few dispositions before settling on the best one, where it actually broadens the room. Now the couch faces the fireplace too, which makes more sense to you.

"Johnny?" You call sweetly, holding the little furniture you bought for them that will hold the cups.

"Aye, m'eudail?" He answers, putting back down the bag of peppers and follows the sound of your tantalising voice.

"Where do you think is best?" You ask, turning around to find him approaching. The little furniture is placed in two different spots.

One is close to the entryway, where you definitely need to add a flap door for them. This means that you'll need to remodel a bit, maybe change the front door, actually. Put one with more personality, maybe in some dark colour? But that's a problem for another day. You flutter your lashes at him, not that you're doing it on purpose. Of course, he knows that, but it doesn't mean the consequences are any different.

You smile as he strokes a hand down your back, a bit further down than this morning, and let him think over it. Johnny doesn't take long, of course, the quick thinker that he is and points at the one by the living room.

"You think?"

"Best for 'em tae get cosy with the room before addin' the door into it, hen."

You nod, tilting your head back so it presses into his shoulder and hum. You're happy. It's been a long time since you've been this happy. Johnny comes closer, breaking the distance until he has you in his arms, the cast resting calmly under your faintly swollen belly. His fingers trail there, over your belly button, and you smile, hearing the little dogs sniffing around their new home.

His nose digs into your hair, groaning at the smell of your shampoo and how soft you are against his skin. Even Kyle, beautiful boy Kyle, wasn't as soft as you are. He remembers watching him rub oil into his skin and some in his hair, too. Ended up applying it a few times, for his own selfish delight. He wonders if you would like Kyle. He's surely the least fearsome of them.

"Ye know I'm military, aye?"

"Of course, I know." You answer, opening your eyes with slight confusion at the sudden change.

"Had a team. A good one." Johnny murmurs, his nose trailing along your temple as he presses a soft peck into your skin.

Your hand finds his hurting one, fingers holding onto him as you let yourself be swamped in his affection. There is that strange twirl again, in your chest, as his breath tickles your skin. Johnny groans your name, one palm slithering down your side as he nuzzles into your hips, finding that delicious swell of yours hidden in that traitorous pair of jeans.

You feel him, but don't comment on it. You've been rather daunting yourself and are too embarrassed to say anything about it, anyway. You don't dare to move, soft eyes following his every movement. Your nose presses into his cheekbone as you murmur his name, a soft melody that makes his heart stammer. It's reassuring how you let him take his time and gather his thoughts.

"Good lads, they are. Ye would love Garrick." He sighs before he offers you soft kisses, as much as he can muster gentleness in himself.

"Yeah?"

"Mhm. He's the kind one."

You snort, remembering everything he did for you, and still do. If Garrick is the kind one, you wonder what Johnny is. You massage his fingers, passing your index on the edge of the cast as you relax into his hold. You can tell he's thinking about it. About them. There is a glint in his eyes when he does, between sadness and sorrow.

"Whatever it is, I'll be here when you're ready."

He huffs, how you always know what he needs, Johnny will never comprehend it. But you do anyway and give him what you do best, understanding and patience. His hand carefully pets your belly, finding that little expansion of flesh there that's so precious and places one last kiss on your cheek.

"Let's get som' food in ye, aye?"

"Mhm, I'm starvin'."

reblogs are appreciated!

line divider by cafekitsune

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wandasaura · 9 months ago

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BENT RIGHT TO YOUR WINDS

summary — visiting your wife at work has become a normal part of your routine, but when she gets particularly handsy one afternoon, you find yourself christening her office whether you like it or not

warning(s) — established relationship, dom/sub dynamics, consensual free use, established safeword (it’s not used), public play, office sex, groping, nipple stimulation, choking, teasing, semi brat!reader, oral fixation, fingers as a gag, thigh riding, spanking, fingering, praise kink, slight degradation, making out, nearly getting caught, alludes to aftercare, wanda in a lab coat deserves a warning, men/minors dni

authors note — happy happy happy birthday to @godhatesgoodgirls !!

kinktober

The day had felt askew since you’d rolled out of bed, something amiss in the routine you’d settled yourself into since moving to the small beach town Wanda had secured a promotion in just seven months prior; when the weather had been warmer and the leaves had been vibrant with hues of green. You bristled at the breeze that swept off the shore the closer you got to central town, able to see the rippling high tides if you craned your neck just slightly to the left and peered through the shrubbery that framed an old ice cream parlor named ‘Sprinkles’, but your gaze was fixed on the large brownstone building that you’d initially sought out, your thoughts spiraling as you considered the misleading appearance. The work that was done inside was prestigious, innovative, a true slice of the future right at the fingertips of those that had access to the futuristic laboratories inside, but the outside fit the quaint white picket fence aesthetic of Westview seamlessly. Had you never been inside before, had you not been married to Wanda who left each morning in a wrinkleless white coat, you’d have thought it was just another Mom and Pop shop for tourists to ogle at, but you weren’t blinded by ignorance – for once you were liberated with knowledge and effortless love.

You smiled softly at Darcy as you stepped inside, finally away from the chill that October had brought with it. The warm nights and blisteringly hot days of September were long behind you, replaced by the unforgiving assault that fall brought upon you and the other residents of Westview. The thick burnt orange and brown flannel around your shoulders did little to keep you warm, but at the very least it provided a sanctuary for your hands to hide away in as you walked the short mile from your two story house to the identifiable brownstone with ‘Romanoff Industries’ pinned to the front. There was a styrofoam jack-o-lantern on the front desk, and a string of harvest leaves behind the counter as well. The touches of decor were soft, delicate, but enough to revive the spirits of those that trekked into work each day; a thoughtful addition that didn’t make the routine of life feel so mindless.

“Wanda’s in her office.” Darcy’s smile was sweet as she nodded her head toward the elevator despite knowing that you preferred to take the stairs. You wouldn’t call her a friend, but she was always a comfortable face to see when you made the journey into town to visit Wanda during her lunch break. Since April when you’d come to help set up the office space despite Wanda keeping her decor minimal and devoid of heavy personal connection, she’d picked up on your habits, and it had become something of a running bet to see how long it would take for you to give into her quiet pestering. You’d yet to take the elevator, and Darcy huffed quietly from behind the desk as you pointedly avoided the silver plaque with glimmering white buttons to instead enter the stairwell, which was decorated with a wooden pumpkin sign hanging from a single clear command strip.

Natasha was definitely the one who had decorated, that much was obvious as you glanced at the decorations hung up within the interior of the stairwell. She was a very business oriented woman, that much you’d come to know since getting acquainted with Wanda’s coworkers and all of their unique relationships, and every story she retold of Natasha’s behavior throughout the day led you to believe that while she maintained a no bullshit attitude, there were soft, fleeting moments of tender care hidden beneath her stoic actions and expressions. She always pushed for Wanda to take a full hour lunch break, even though she preferred to eat as quickly as possible before returning to the lab, and on her birthday, which she hadn’t told anyone about, there had been a present sitting on her desk that was admittedly not very personal, but still touching because it meant that Natasha had remembered reading it on her transfer application. The touches of halloween decor was minimal, and honestly, somewhat laughable, but there was a softer message beneath the taped up scarecrow and the wonkily hung jack-o-lanterns. Even if the holidays were of no relevance to Natasha, who you knew worked every holiday that she could because Wanda was always prattling on about her data being changed during the few days off they received for things like Christmas and Easter, she knew that it mattered to her staff, and she tried her best to put some effort into boosting moral around the office.

When you entered Wanda’s office, the meticulously clean room being just beside the stairwell door, you noticed her lack of presence, which was odd. Wanda was always around when she knew you were coming, not wanting any of her other co-workers to get the chance to report back to Natasha claiming you were snooping through classified files. It had never happened, but the people at her old placement had started that rumor anyways, and Yelena, her boss that had become something of a close friend to you even if you rarely spoke with her grueling work schedule and your lack of genuinely trying, had merely rolled her eyes, but had still been required to scold Wanda for her negligence. Natasha’s hand would be forced the same way if anyone began those rumors again, so Wanda, bless her, had tried to nip them in the butt before they could even truly begin, which brought you right back to your confusion as you looked around the office. The salad she’d made before leaving was sat on her desk, picked through and beginning to wilt, signaling that she’d either forgotten to put the ice pack in her lunch box again despite the pink sticky note you left on the freezer door, or she’d taken lunch early by Natasha’s forcing. You hoped you weren’t interrupting anything important, not aware of your plans being subject to change, but before you could dwell on what she could possibly be doing somewhere misplaced in the large office building, you felt hands wrapping around your body and pulling you backward.

A soft gasp fell off of your lips when the door was kicked closed, and then you realized what was happening. A breathy whine fell off your lips when fingers pinched at your nipples through the thick material of your shirt, the unbuttoned flannel thrown over your shoulders allowing your attacker to feel the way they pebbled without a bra to conceal them. The flash of white as one hand reached up to hold onto your neck had you melting against her chest, somewhat out of breath from the shock that had rattled you initially.

“Wanda.” You sighed softly, head lulling to the side when teeth nipped at your neck before passionate kisses were pressed into your skin and trialed downward toward the collar of your shirt. “Wanda, you’re at work.” You tried again, face growing flush as you stared ahead at the open blinds. If anyone was standing across the street, if they craned their head just the slightest bit upward, they’d undoubtedly be able to make out the silhouette of your body being groped. A whine fell off of your lips when a curious hand pinched at your nipples once more, relishing in the way they hardened beneath harsh pressure.

“Shh, baby. Just let me touch you, I’ll be quick.” She��d have stopped if you really wanted her to. All that you had to do was say a single word, and her hands would be off of you faster than they’d grabbed you to begin with, but the rush of excitement that had your clit pulsating against the seam of your leggings deterred you from making that choice. Wanda clearly knew that her office was safe enough to touch you in this way, and not so secretly, you yearned for the thrill of somebody knocking on the door, forcing the both of you to spring apart and attempt to collect yourself in time for them to not grow concerned beyond the threshold. Another added bonus was the dominance in which she touched you with, leaving nothing up for your consideration, merely taking what she wanted and giving what she wanted you to have. There was something so tantalizing about being at her disposal whenever and however she pleased, and you’d both gone to great lengths to ensure that this element of your sexual relationship was both consensual and comfortable for the both of you, not just her. She wasn’t doing anything that you hadn’t previously agreed to, in fact, you wish she’d do more. You wished her hands would stop toying with the collar of your shirt and wrap around your neck the way that you adored, that her hands would stop fiddling with your nipples overtop of your shirt and seek the price you hid beneath the thick cotton. You wished she’d travel lower, exploit that sensitive nerve between your legs that she knew how to manipulate until you were merely putty in her hands begging for release that she had every right to deny you. You wished she’d stop handling you so softly.

“If we’re going to do this, you need to at least make it worth my while, Maximoff.” You rushed out, eyes closed as pleasure seized your thoughts, pinning you in place as she twisted your nipple sadistically, enjoying the way every muscle in your body tightened before it melted away into bliss that you couldn’t fight. She chuckled darkly against your neck, her hot breath fanning across the shell of your ear.

“Trying to tell me what to do, pretty girl?” She quizzed, pulling you back against her chest with a firm grip around your midsection, her fingers that weren’t taunting your sensitive nipples fiddling with the waistband of your leggings that begged to be slipped down lower until your cunt was exposed to the heat circulating through the spacious office. “When has that ever worked out well for you?”

“Never.” You gritted through clenched teeth, taking in a large breath when the first instance of getting what you wanted from her presented itself, but you were foolish to think she’d cave to your bratting so easily, and just as easily as her fingers slipped beneath the waistband of your leggings to pull at the hem of your delicate panties, they were gone and trailed back up your body until they found a comfortable home against your neck. Her fingers squeezed tightly, and the sudden change in air going to your lungs had your eyes fluttering closed as you slumped against her chest, writhing in pleasurable pain as she again pulled at your taut nipples and chuckled whimsically.

“I applaud your efforts, detka, but you’re not here to make demands.” You gasped when teeth sank into your neck, right above where her thumb rested along the column of your skin, practically burning you with its possessive grip. A deep sense of pleasure rolled through your body when her knee pushed between your legs, her toned thigh sitting around against your clit, further driving the seam of your pants into your intimacy, giving you just an ounce of friction, which you took eagerly, rocking against her clothed thigh as you felt the impression of her pens in the breast pocket of her lab coat digging into you shoulder blade. “So easy, malyshka. Would you let anyone touch you like this? Have you wherever they wanted?” She knows that answer is a firm no, but still she likes to taunt your desperation for her touch, and it only adds to the humiliation that's beginning to pile up on you as you become desperate enough to rock against the thigh between your legs, desperate sounds falling off your lips as you attempt to silence your need. “So noisy, we’re gonna have to do something about that.”

You’re shoved away from her body like merely touching your skin is enough to burn her, and you can’t help but meekly whimper at the loss of contant. It lasts for merely a handful of seconds, her hungry eyes undressing you as you found your footing and steadied yourself. “Pants around your ankles. I don’t have time for you to look at me like a deer in headlights.” She grumbles, already beginning to move around the office and ensure that the blinds are properly drawn as you push down your leggings and fold yourself over the desk in the way that you know she wants. Your ass sticks out just enough for your glistening cunt to be visible, and a sadistic chuckle warms your skin as she sets her eyes on you already dripping for her. “You like when I take advantage of you, baby? When I tell you to come meet me for lunch just so I can play with your cunt?” It all makes sense now, and you can’t help but cry out in surprise when her palm comes down on the globe of your ass and leaves a stinging sensation in its wake. Another hit follows, this time harder and directed at your lower thighs, but there’s not time for you to respond before she’s pushing two fingers into your folds and setting a brutal pace as she works to have you coming undone.

She’d nearly been late to work that morning, too focused on obsessing over you to a degree that should’ve made her plans for the afternoon obvious. She’d asked you a few hundred questions, about how you were doing mentally, how you felt being in Westview now that it wasn’t so new, if you were still getting caught between feelings of sadness and longing in moments that you couldn’t have predicted such a strong overcoming of emotion. You hadn’t thought anything about it until now, but as you gathered the full picture, you can see that she was checking in, ensuring that none of this would affect you in any way other than positively. If her hand wasn’t holding your back firmly against her desk, you would’ve spun around to kiss her, but all that you could do now was whine as her fingers hammered into you, curling upward if only to graze that sensitive spot within your walls minimally. She was toying with you, teasing you, seeing how long she could prolong your pleasure until you begged for her to give you more.

It came quickly, because the overwhelming assault of your love for her only multiplied the pleasure that her fingers were provoking within your core, and the small movements of your hips pushing back against her fingers only gained you so much. “Please! Please! I need more!” You begged, tears blurring in your vision as your moans and whines became too loud, and were quickly silenced by her fingers forcing themselves into your mouth. She pressed down on your tongue cynically, chuckling to herself as you gagged and moaned around her now sodden digits.

She didn’t try to deny you though, working faster, pressing against that sweet spot within you with purpose now, dragging out every ounce of pleasure you allowed her to take, her thumb falling onto your clit as she guided you towards an orgasm that had to be silent, the sounds of footsteps just beyond the office door reminding you of where you are.

“Cum for me, detka. It’s okay, you can let go.” She cooed as she felt your walls begin to squeeze her fingers, fluttering and pulsating with each ounce of pleasure she drew out of you. That was all it took for you to fall apart, her fingers in your mouth silencing the whines and moans that attempted to fall into the air, but became muffled and soft sounding as her digits prevented them from fully forming on your tongue. Your thighs trembled as she withdrew her fingers, your brain a jumbled mess of pleasure and submission as you reached for your pants and worked them up your legs.

You smiled softly as she turned you around in her arms, laying a kiss to your lips that was soft and tender like she always was. “Did you eat?” She checked in, no longer radiating dominance that had your mind whirling with pleasurable incoherence, and just barely did you manage to nod your head before the door swung upon and one of her colleges that you’d heard about stood in the doorway with a beam of pride on her lips, entirely unaware of what she’d almost barged in on.

“We made a development! Like, a big development!” Kate rambled with excitement, taking off down the hallway and back toward the lab before Wanda even had a chance to reply.

You batted at the woman's chest, your hand landing right against her breast pocket where three black pens were meticulously pinned, your cheeks flush in mortification. “You didn’t lock the door?!”

“Whoops?” She grinned bashfully, stealing one last kiss before she was racing out of the office and in the direction that Kate had fled to. “I’ll see you at home, baby! Love you!”

#wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #dom!wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff smut #wanda maximoff fluff #wanda maximoff fic #[ kinktober ] — ⟡

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haberai · 4 months ago

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riacte · 1 month ago

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quick fact sheet for newcomers to the false + ren dynamic! one of hermitcraft’s cutest friendships 🫶

false is/was ren’s favourite hermit as of dec 2023

ren has been a fan of false before they met on hermitcraft 4. apparently he went to see her in minecon 2015 but was too nervous to talk to her (she doesn’t remember him)

apparently ren was anxious about meeting false irl (it’s public knowledge that they met up irl in 2017 and 2024 at least in addition to the 2025 gamers outreach stream)

they were “officially” neighbours in at least hc6, hc9 (starter), and hc10

ren’s red king crown from third life is in fact his mcc9 blue bats crown (that he won with false, fruitberries, and hbomb94 in september 2020)

false opened a pet rock shop in one of the older seasons (s4/s5) and named one according to ren’s own pet rock. when ren heard the news from the hermitcraft recap, he almost slipped in the bath out of excitement (because he was watching recap in the bath)

he forgot to end his stream for 50 min and she had to tell him on her stream. because obviously he was watching her.

ren skipped irl dinner to kill bdubs in demise 2 so false could win

false played stardew with ren when everyone else played mario kart on the flight to america re: gamers outreach event 2025 (because ren had switch problems and she was keeping him company)

in hc10, ren gave false a multipass that gives her access to everything in his base and everything he owns

ren spent a year making and planning to gift false an irl blue river raceway trophy to show his appreciation for her

exiled ren named his boat the symmetria in honour of her (symmetria is the name of false’s patreon server)

ren’s top five emotes on his 2024 twitch recap were all false’s. all of them. his top channel was also her

this is genuinely just the tip of the iceberg it only gets crazier from here

they have many many years of history and loads of content to binge (mcc, falselive, long twaddle streams, mcc9, demise 2, hermitcraft 10th anni stream, gamers outreach 2025), plus they always do stuff together regularly so we always have something

it’s so nice being a fan of this twaddle duo because we always get fed with the most unhinged stuff 🙏 never a dull moment fr 🫶

#hermitcraft #rendog #falsesymmetry #taking out 2021 style propaganda #hi false if you’re seeing this thank you for falselive 💙🙏

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pennzance · 1 month ago

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Miss Susan Sto Helit is literature's most sensible heroine.

She is the kind of woman to keep her head in a crisis. She knows the value of practical experience. She is able to command the respect and attention of total strangers and, perhaps more impressively, those who think they know her well. She is capable, intelligent, and most importantly of all, DONE with everyone's nonsense.

Susan does not get distracted. She does not stop. She does not soften herself. She is often working with knowledge of a situation no other character could even access, and she isn't afraid to use it. She knows there is a job to be done, and once she has locked in there will be forward progress toward her goal with every turn of the page, because otherwise she will have wasted both HER time and YOURS.

She sees the world around her as it really is and reluctantly deals with it on its own terms.

Part of this, of course, comes from her heritage. She's part of a particularly strange family dynamic and is occasionally forced into the familial job. She can be hard to notice. She can walk through walls. She can step outside of time. She can use THE VOICE. She is not, strictly speaking, human. And somehow that makes her one of Pratchett's most human characters.

Not to say she does not apply her inherited talents to the hum drum of her everyday life. Indeed, it seems almost necessary that she does so. After all, what caregiver or teacher does NOT work minor miracles each and every day? Susan just has certain advantages that she tries very hard not to abuse too much.

She threatens the monster under the bed, because not only does she know for certain there IS one, but she also knows precisely how to threaten it with its own worst fear. She knows a few Tooth Fairies by name, and entities that are feared by normal people, such as Old Man Trouble, tip their hat to her and then quickly walk in the other direction. She saved the Hogfather's life and then went home and had cocoa with her Grandfather.

She isn't a machine of course. She likes Black. She likes Chocolate. She likes Children. She even likes the occasional boy. She simply doesn't have time for nonsense or inefficiency, and this attitude reduces most problems she faces to minor speedbumps in the normal operation of her routine.

But when her normal routine is interrupted by familial obligations, she doesn't argue (although she might complain), she gets to work. It is rare among any hero in literature to preempt the Call To Adventure with the matter-of-fact statement that "I've been here fifteen minutes already, why are you running so late?" For this attitude to be chiefly adopted by a woman who is effectively a goth Mary Poppins is singular.

Miss Susan Sto Helit is literature's most sensible heroine. If it were not for other characters getting page time in the books where she features, her attitude would bring most things to such a swift conclusion that her entire bibliography would amount to little more than a collection of short stories. A slim collection at that.

#discworld #gnu terry pratchett #literature #susan sto helit #musings

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theartingace · 10 months ago

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Your centaurs differ pretty wildly from the base DnD centaurs, but what I am curious about is old people. DnD centaurs travel in migrations that last generations and just leave the old or infirm behind to keep on (at which point they become Chiron types); how do your centaurs handle the elderly?

I actually had no idea that DnD centaurs did that, kinda cool, kinda wild cultural practice?? While I have always encouraged folks to use my workarounds and patches for centaurs in their TTRPG games, I actually have very little idea of what ideas are already in any of the systems that do actually include centaurs! my advice on centaurs is usually much more niche daily life stuff than most game developers and story writers tend to delve into.

For my centaurs the elderly are treated much like any human elder, what do you do with them? You cherish them!! Particularly with my centaurs, who across all their cultures depend a lot on family and group dynamics to compensate for the challenges that come with having a horse body. So elders would be an important font of knowledge and cultural memory! Now MY centaurs in particular tend to be pre-history to medieval style cultures, with access to higher medicines pretty much limited to the Port city of the Merchant's culture so living to a super advanced age would be fairly rare, but that would just make those who DO get to that age generally more important and respected (at least according to Nana)

As mobility issues arise with advanced age, there's lots of options to keep Nana mobile and healthy, from supportive corsets and harnesses to support the back to senior comfort hoof trims and special shoes- but most end up opting for being (literally) carted around in small wagons by the grandkids. Or the more independent minded seniors may drive their own carts with pet ponies and donkeys (or even goats!)

Of course wheelchairs are also an excellent choice to help with mobility at any age!

And even in my semi-nomadic Rider culture, elders are simply packed up with the yurts and tents and travel in the carts that way. No reason to leave them behind when you have stuff to be carrying anyway in my opinion!

#centaurs #asked and answered #worldbuilding #elder care #in which as usual I yap too much #new doodles!#because i couldn't resist the temptation #to draw some gummy lil old centaurs #cherish your elders people!!#i think the reason i get so into worldbuilding for centaurs #is because so many other systems #just treat them as smart monsters #or just Chiron #but a herd of him #more fun to me to explore a person #with the power and size of a horse #and how they navigate that

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cosmicportal · 2 months ago

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In May 1921, American polymath Walter Russell entered a 39-day coma-like state, during which he claimed to have accessed “the source of all knowledge.” Upon awakening, he frantically wrote down what he had seen — pages filled with philosophical, scientific, and spiritual revelations that would later form the foundation of his manuscript *The Universal One*. Though he sent his findings to 500 leading minds of the time, nearly all dismissed him as mad — except one. Nikola Tesla, the visionary inventor, was so struck by Russell’s insights that he urged him to seal the work away for a thousand years, insisting that humanity was not yet ready for its truths.

Walter Russell’s revelations reimagined the very structure of reality. He argued that matter was not solid but crystallized light slowed by thought — that everything around us, from rocks to human bodies, was composed of light patterns, shaped by consciousness. He believed the universe was fundamentally mental, not material, and that all things moved in rhythmic cycles — expansion and contraction, like breath. He dismissed opposites like good and evil as illusions, asserting instead that everything sought harmony and balance. To Russell, death wasn’t an end but the release of compressed light returning to its source. Even time, he claimed, wasn’t linear, but a spiral where past, present, and future coexisted.

These ideas were radically ahead of their time, blending metaphysics, wave dynamics, and a deep sense of universal unity. He believed electricity was a living spiral of energy, not merely electrons in motion, and that the vacuum of space was in fact a vibrant sea of untapped potential. Health, in his view, was the natural rhythm of the body, and disease was simply a disruption of that flow. Though ignored or ridiculed during his lifetime, Russell’s work now draws new attention in an era where quantum physics and consciousness studies begin to echo the same questions. To many, he is no longer a forgotten eccentric, but a prophet of a paradigm yet to come.

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mauvecherie-writes · 1 year ago

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duality: l.hamilton

pairing: lewis hamilton x black journalist!reader

summary: it’s two years on since and then a lot about your dynamic has changed. things are official and everyone is still none the wiser …

tags: 18+, MDNI, NSFW, extremely sexual content, oral sex (f receiving), protected sex, dirty talk, dom/sub elements, spit, choking, some slight edging, aftercare.

w.c: 4.5K

reading list: @queenshikongo3 @dhlfastestlap @saintslewis @serpenttines-library @hopefulromantic1 @cocobutterqwueen @bluesole16 @emjayewrites @chaneajoyyy @melodichaeuxx-lacritquexx @sapphireheaven @olyvoyl @lewisroscoelove @lh44adore @hellomadamebutterfly @scorpiobleue @qveenmelanink @tremendousstarlighttragedy @angelinaevans @bekindbecoolbeyou @greedyjudge2 @itsapurrfectstorm @createdbylivingclocks @samiwzx @omgsuperstarg @peyiswriting @miyuhpapayuh @blowmymbackout @purplelewlew

previous part: super soaker.

Your friends loved a good gossip session and tonight’s topic as you sat in the exclusive club ‘Lounge 418’ was who had the best dick game in Hollywood. You had very little input considering you were still reaching the heights of your popularity as a journalist and you barely paid attention to the couple of men who had tried to get some type of access to you and it was going to be denied each time.

“The athletes though.” Marie smirked as the rest of the table hummed in agreement. “The toxicity adds a little sweetness to it.” She added which caused you to giggle. Chanel turned her body to face yours.

“Aren’t they all in your DM’s anyway? A fine ass woman talking about them in detail. I know that gives them an ego boost.”

It does. they messaged you all the time, wanting to quiz your knowledge in person. An arrogance that annoyed the hell out of you so you never replied. The only one who ever caught your eye was Lewis and it worked in his favour because he approached you accordingly. You had posted a podcast episode recapping on the events of his race in Brazil in 2021. As a long time fan of his - that was the race that sparked your love for him all over again.

The way you had spoken so passionately about him and his career, defending his right to the championship. Lewis had sent you a message thanking you for your support. It was short and sweet but your crush on him drove you to give him an answer then everything snow balled from there. That one episode changed your life for the next two and a half years.

When your relationship initially began, it was strictly casual sex but things got intense pretty quickly and the NDA was scrapped when things became more official between you. However, the both of you loved and respected each other’s privacy thus no one, even your closest friends knew.

So lost within your mind, you had forgotten that you were the focus of the conversation until Lewis’s sport was mentioned, your head snapped upwards.

“What about that F1 guy you’re obsessed with?”

Your cheeks warmed as a sense of bashfulness filled you. “What about him?”

“Has he ever slid into your DM’s?”

“I mean…” You shrugged your shoulders as you sipped on your French 75. “He was pretty chill and he was thanking me for my support for him for my podcast episode.”

“And that was it?” Marie raised her eyebrow and a small smirk playing on her face.

“We spoke here and there but that was about it.” You replied, trying to keep it as vague as possible. You remembered how flirty he was and how you had gravitated towards him. Your crush did quite a chunk of heavy lifting but Lewis was a natural charmer and he invoked feelings within you that had thought were gone. He brought them out and they haven’t dissipated since.

“He just looks like an absolute sweetheart. I don’t think he’d be that freaky though - seems like the vanilla type.” Your friend Vanessa commented. “Not that there's anything wrong with Vanilla.” She added.

“Nah, I say it’s the sweethearts you need to be on the lookout for. One minute, they’re feeding your strawberries and the next, they’re eating your pussy from the back and their thumb slipping into your ass.”

“That was oddly specific Marie.” Chanel raised her eyebrow with a grimace which caused all of you to burst out laughing. You hid your face behind your glass with a smile on your face.

As the alcohol flowed so did the topics and Lewis was no longer a focus which caused you to relax. You were beginning to think about him too much even though you had been with him in the morning before he left.

Then your phone buzzed in your bag. You placed your drink down and took your phone out and a message notification was on the screen.

🏎️💨: I see you.

You looked up from your phone and tried to search the crowds in the lounge but it was too dimly lit.

You: Lol okay, Mr Creeper. Where do you see me from?

🏎️💨: I’m a few tables ahead of you to the right. I saw trying to look for me. I’m in the blue cap with the TH tracksuit.

As soon as you read the description of his appearance, you quickly spotted him and you couldn’t help but chuckle to yourself. His attempts at disguising himself in public were always terrible and him dressed top to bottom in a Tommy Hilfiger two piece was certainly not doing him any favours.

You: You are terrible at hiding yourself lol. You’re staring right at me.

You: Also, what are you doing here??? I thought you were having a quiet night until I came to your place.

🏎️💨: The boys dragged me out. They say I haven’t been out in a while. I didn’t know we were on our way here until we were outside.

🏎️💨: Come and say hi.

“Who are you texting that’s making you smile like that?” Marie as she tried to snoop, looking down at your phone. You quickly locked your screen and placed your phone back into your bag.

“Nobody.” You smiled at her as you got up. Smiling at everyone, “I just saw someone, I’m gonna say go say hi and I’ll be back.”

Your friends watched you as you walked away from your table, their eyes widening when they see the men sitting at the table.

As you drew closer, your smile could not be stopped as you saw him sitting there on top of the booth, his legs spread. You could spot his rainbow coloured pearl necklace from the top of the track jacket.

With a small wave to the other men, you made it in front of Lewis, standing in between his legs.

“You look good enough to eat.” He mumbled in your ear as you hugged him.

“You look good too.” You replied with a soft giggle. His head turned slightly into your neck and placed a kiss in the depression of your collarbone through the fabric of your top.

Your sweet spot.

You almost moaned but your will power compelled you to pull away.

“Are you allowed to hug me like that in public?” You softly asked him.

“Anything I say goes and I wanted that hug. I haven’t seen you since this morning.” He licked his lips as he let his eyes fall down to your midriff. It was like he could see himself back in your bed this morning. You tapped his thigh so he could focus on your face instead and once he held your gaze and sighed, you rolled your eyes.

“Always in the gutter.” You commented.

“You’re in there with me.” He threw back at you with a smirk. With his grip on your forearm, he pulled you closer in between his legs. Feeling his warmth had you taking a deep breath as he stared at you without word.

“So what’s on the agenda? Everyone’s looking at us, they’re gonna pick up on it.”

“It’s been two years, let them speculate.”

“You know now that I’ve seen you, I just want to leave now and my girls are gonna ask questions.”

“Tell them what you want.” He said. “In about thirty minutes, you’re gonna meet me out front and we’ll go back to my place.”

“What are we doing at your place?” You asked as you played with his zipper.

“You’ll find out when we get there but make sure you book a hair appointment soon.”

“Jesus Christ.” You breathed out as you let his words sink into your bones.

“Okay.”

“Okay what?”

“Okay … Sir.”

“Good girl.”

God, the urge to kiss him was strong within you but instead you pulled away from him and got back to reality. You patted his chest before you finally withdrew and went back to your table.

“What in the hell was that?!” Chanel exclaimed. “You were trying to play coy with us but you knew that Lewis Hamilton was going to be here?!”

“Yeah, friends my ass.” Vanessa snickered

“First of all, I didn’t know he was going to be here.” You spoke as you reached for the bottle of fresh champagne on the table.

“Was he the one messaging you?” “Is this the first time you’ve seen him in a social setting?” “Girl what the hell was that? Y’all were all up on each other?!” “Yeah, what was that about?”

“What is with all these damn questions?” You tried to laugh them off and focused on drinking. All your friends narrowed their eyes at you.

“This is not over.” Maria pointed at you.

“Whatever.” You playfully smacked her hand away from your direction. And for the next thirty minutes, you had tried to focus back your attention on your friends but since talking to Lewis, your body was riddled with anticipation.

Not wanting to wait any longer, you quickly said your goodbyes, they playfully jeered you as you walked away. You rolled your eyes laughing at their remarks. When you got outside, Lewis’s bodyguard was waiting outside of his truck to open the door for you.

You greeted him softly as you slid into the truck and sat yourself beside your boyfriend, who placed a light kiss on your cheek. You melted into the side of his body as you rode from the lounge to his property.

When you got up to his penthouse, you were in awe of the interior design. You especially loved his floor to ceiling windows that gave you the most perfect view of the New York skyline. Your toes wiggled against the heated floors as you had taken your heels off the moment you entered his home.

You were standing by the window when Lewis came behind you, holding a small glass of wine.

“You always said that you’d wanted to taste one of my wines from my infamous wine fridge.”

“I always found it interesting that you’re not much of a drinker but every home you own has a wine fridge and a small bar.”

“I like the aesthetic of it.” He shrugged his shoulders. “And just because I don’t drink doesn’t mean I can’t cater to the people around me who do.”

You took a sip of the beverage and you almost moaned at the richness of the wine hitting your tastebuds. You had always been a wine snob and Lewis indulged in your tastes by buying you expensive wines that you wouldn’t even think of.

“I can’t believe you got me a bottle of Burgundy.”

“You’d been raving about it for a week when you saw that it was being auctioned. Personally I don’t see what the fuss is about.” His last comment caused you to laugh. The bottle was a Chateau Latour from 1984, matured for forty years and you had wanted it since your first big paycheck. The bottle being auctioned was a blessing in disguise but you always talked yourself out actually spending close to £500 for it.

Lewis bought it for you without a blink.

You took another sip, a larger one than the last.

“It has very intense notes. It’s herby but has a lot of fruity notes coming to the top. Black cherries and blackberries is what I taste the most but it leaves an earthy note when it’s done.”

“You sound so hot when you talk like that.” Lewis softly groaned which caused you to blush. You placed the nearly empty wine glass down as he encroached into your personal space. You tried to ignore the way that he was staring you down which was causing your heart to beat incredibly fast. You had always reacted like this to him and you honestly thought that was never going to change.

You licked your lips as he cupped your cheeks in his hands and caressed your skin with his thumbs.

“I just love hearing you talk about things you’re passionate about.” He traced your bottom lip with his thumb as he dropped one of his hands to your waist and pulled you into his body.

“Thank you.” You whispered, admiring his beauty up close. You loved the small beauty spot that sat high on his cheekbone and the double nose piercings with diamonds that caught the light from all angles. His lashes were long and curled and as he looked at you - they seemed to be touching his cheeks.

“Want a taste of the wine?” You asked with a little smirk on your lips as Lewis moved his hand to the back of your head.

“Yeah, give me a taste.” He mumbled before he leaned down and captured your mouth. Lewis moaned softly as he savoured the residue of the wine still on your lips. You couldn’t move your head much as he had moved his hands to cup your face in his palms as he controlled the kiss. You melted into his hold, silently begging for more as you held onto his wrists trying to stabilise yourself.

You nibbled on his bottom lip which caused him to growl, he walked you backwards until you were pressed into the window behind you. Finally, he moved his hands away from your face and trailed them down your body and gripped you as you wrestled with his tongue. His hands dipped into the hem of your skirt until one of his fingers hooked on your thong.

“Can we move to the bedroom?” You whispered as Lewis kissed down the length of your neck. Your fingers moved to his hair, tugging on his braids as his tongue licked on your pretty brown skin.

“No one can see you from up here.” He said as he licked on your earlobe before sucking on it.

“Maybe next time but I want you to take me on your bed.”

“You want me to fuck you into my mattress is that it?”

“Yes.” You gasped at his words and then he picked you up in his arms and began walking towards the bedroom. You capture his lips again - in a far more frantic manner as you clawed at his clothes, begging him to take them off. He threw you onto his king sized bed and then discarded his jacket and white vest.

“Take it all off.” He commanded you which caused you to whimper. You stripped out of your clothes until you were left in just your thong and before you could pull them down, Lewis pulled you towards him by your ankle, squealing as he dragged you. Your back settled down onto the bed as Lewis positioned himself in between your legs and pulled your thongs away from your cunt.

Lewis felt you tremble as he parted your folds with his fingers, teasing them as he watched you react to his touch.

“I always tell you this but you have such a pretty pussy sweetheart.”

“And you love playing with my pretty pussy.”

“Yeah I do. I’m gonna play with you and make you feel so good until I’ve had enough.” You moaned at his words and thrusted your pussy into his face. Lewis chuckled at your desperation, pressing the pad of his thumb on your clit.

“How bad do you want it?” He asked you as you took off your underwear completely.

“I want it so bad baby.” You replied as he got onto his knees and placed your legs on his shoulders. “Please.” You pleaded.

“Ugh.” Lewis groaned. “I love it when you get like this. So needy before I even touch you.” He turned his head to place kisses on the inner of your thighs.

“Because you love teasing me until I can’t take it.” He smirked at you right before he buried his head in your thighs. The first burst of your small whimpers left you as he wrapped his lips around your clit and softly sucked it into his mouth. Your hands quickly found their way into your hair, tugging on the strands as he sucked on your sensitive bud. His eyes moved upward to meet yours that were already looking down at him. Lewis’s gaze was so intense as he caught your every reaction.

Shaky breaths left you as he flicked his tongue back and forth on your nub. Your sweetness trickled into his mouth, dipping the muscle into your cunt. You squirmed in his arms as he continued giving you slow strokes of his tongue before changing the motion into a suction.

“Oh shit!” You gasped as you jerked up to your elbows and pushed the back of your heels into his muscled, tattooed back. Lewis softly groaned against you as his cock strained in his pants.

“Just like that.” You moaned as you pulled on the covers beneath you as you rolled your hips into his mouth. Just as your orgasm was on the eclipse, he pulled away from you and your sound of despair was music to his ears as he grabbed a strip of condoms from the bedside table and he threw them beside you on the bed.

“I hate it when you stop just as I’m about to cum.” You whined as you watched him cover his dick with the condom.

“I know sweetheart but tonight, I only want to feel you cumming on me.” He told you as he traced your opening with the tip of his cock as he crowded your body from above. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders as he hiked your legs to his waist. Lewis leaned down and pressed a searing kiss onto your lips, you hummed into his mouth as you tasted yourself on his tongue.

He slowly slid inside.

“Fuck.” The both of you sighed. You dug your nails into his shoulders as he slid further into your cunt. Your lips brushed against each other as he slowly dragged his cock in and out of you as you continued to adjust to the stretch. Two years on and you still took a little time to accommodate him.

He placed a kiss on your hairline as he whispered sweet words in your ear. “Always tight and sweet for me.” You whimpered at his words as you tried to push your hips up to encourage him to pick up speed but all he did was put his hands in the crook of your knees, pushing them down. From the new position, his chains were dangling down into your face.

“Baby.” You called him.

“Yeah baby?”

“Don’t go sweet on me. I need you.” His strokes were slow, building his momentum but hearing you say that made his jaw clench. He’d always tried to be gentle with you never really letting his mask slip but there were times before where he had given you a taste and you craved for Lewis to let go of his inhibition.

“I’ll ruin you sweetheart. I’ll ruin you for good.” He mumbled as he pecked your lips.

“I’m yours. Do what you want to me.”

Lewis let your words wash over you and they made him buckle. He dropped his forehead onto yours with his eyes closed.

“Do you know the traffic light system?” He asked you and you quickly nodded your head in response.”

“Green means go, amber is slow down and red is stop.”

“Good girl.” He hummed, giving you one more kiss. “I still want a safe word.”

“Burgundy.” You shot out an answer which caused him to smirk.

“That’s my girl.” He sat up but he was still holding you down as he angled his hips and hit your spot at a different angle. Your breath ceased, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as he began to focus on that same spot - thrusting into you hard and fast. Your walls tightly clenched around him, strangling his cock as your body was swept in pleasure. Because of the previous build up, your orgasm was quickly rising.

He could feel your warmth and wetness through the sheath of the latex and for the umpteenth time, his mind wandered to how you’d feel without the barrier in between you. His knees were already buckling , he knew without the condom, he’d crumble. However, he had to focus. Your moans were calling out to him, your hand was pressing at his abdomen to try and relieve some of the pressure but he wasn’t going to let up.

He would get you right to the edge, get your legs shaking before he would stop. Edging you over and over until you were begging with tears trailing down the sides of your face.

“Please, please, please, please.” You rambled as you thrashed your head around, completely overwhelmed with your nerves being overshot by his actions and his dick pushing deeper inside of you. Your eyes were closed as you tried to regulate your breathing to focus on not climaxing.

“Open your eyes baby.” Lewis grabbed your cheeks, the pain of his blunt nails digging into your skin forced you to open your eyes. “There you go. I need you to keep looking at me as I fuck you stupid.”

He hiked up your right leg to his shoulder as he picked up his pace, pounding into you harder and faster.

“Lewis!” You exclaimed his name as your back arched off the bed, gasping for air as his hips snapped harshly against your skin. He loved the way his name fell from your lips, the best music to his ears. “Right there baby!”

“Open your mouth.” He demanded and you promptly let your mouth part. He hovered above you and let some spit drop into your mouth. You whimpered as you quickly swallowed and showed him your tongue to show him that you’d done it.

“That’s my good girl.” He smiled at you and then wiped your bottom lip, smudging the last of your lipstick. His fingers were so close and you took them into your mouth, sucking on them causing his rhythm to stutter. He pushed his fingers a little bit further into your mouth which caused you to gag a little bit and you kept sucking on his digits.

You have a thing for choking and he’d picked up on that but hadn’t really done much to play with you until now. Lewis took his fingers out of your mouth and brought them to your neck and applied just enough pressure to make your walls clamp up around him. You squeezed your eyes closed as more tears came - you couldn’t hold back anymore, our body was begging for release and Lewis continued with his teasing.

“Hold your legs up.” He told you and when your arms hooked around your trembling thighs, Lewis bent his body so that his head was closer to your chest and took a nipple into his mouth. He grazed your areola with his teeth before sucking on your nipple causing your walls to quiver around his dick.

Even without words, Lewis could feel your body crying for release. “My dirty, dirty girl. I can feel you milking my dick, just trying to take me for all my worth.” Using his weight to hold you down, one hand still around his neck and the other coming in between your bodies to pinch your clit before moving his fingers in swift and fast circles on your nub.

“This pretty pussy doesn’t want to let me go sweetheart.” He whispered into your ear before placing a kiss on your shoulder. “Squeezing me so fucking tight.”

“I need to come.” Your lips were against his ear, his cold jewellery touching your warm, flushed skin. “Please let me come, Sir. Let me come for you.”

“What if I don’t want you to? What if I just want you right on the edge? Hm? What if it brings me pleasure edging you and watching you suffer?”

“Baby…”

“You can stop it now. Just give me the word and I’ll end it all right now.”

You shook your head. “Don’t stop.”

Lewis then shifted your position yet again, this time with your knees now on each side of your head. He began fucking you harder than before which left you incoherent, begging and pleading for any and everything.

Your juices were drenching the both of you and with each thrust, the slapping of wet skin caused an echo to carry across the room.

“I’m gonna come!” You inhaled sharply as your chest heaved for air. Lewis placed a kiss onto the back of your leg.

“Come for me baby. Wanna feel you drench my dick.” His words broke the dam. Your whole body was set ablaze as your orgasm consumed your body as you called out his name in a desperate cry. Lewis dropped his head into the crook of your neck, sucking your skin into his mouth as he fucks you through the climax.

His thrusts became irregular and sloppy until he was moaning against your flesh as he erupted into the condom. You held onto each other as the both of you tried to control your breathing. Your bodies were covered in sweat and the stickiness of your fluids in between your legs.

Your body was still vibrating from the intensity of your orgasm. “I can’t feel my legs.” You mumbled in his ear causing Lewis to chuckle. He turned his head and kissed along your jawline before capturing your lips into a soft kiss.

“Did I hurt you baby?”

“In all of the best ways.” You smiled against his lips. “One of the best orgasms you’ve ever given me.”

“One of many.”

“God, I love you.” You groaned as you wrapped your arms around his neck as he began to move away from the bed and towards the bathroom. He sat you on the counter of the sink as he walked to the bathtub to fill it with water before coming back to you.

He parted your legs and grabbed a wet rag and began wiping you down. “Are you sure I didn’t hurt you baby?” The marks of his touch were beginning to show on your skin and the concern in his tone made you swoon. You placed a hand on his cheek and made him look at you.

“I’m fine baby, I swear. I still feel like you’re holding back on me.” You replied.

“It’s our first time venturing into that type of play. I don’t want to overwhelm you just yet. Things tonight were already intense so we need to be careful about that.”

“Hmmm.” You hummed as your walls clenched around nothing and your nipples began to tighten. “God, I love it when you talk to me like that.”

Lewis smirked down at you before leaning forward and kissing you once more. “I take being a dom very seriously. You’re my girl and I love you so I have to be extra cautious.”

“Are you finally going to make me yours completely?”

“You already are, sweetheart, I don’t need to dominate you to prove that.” He licked his lips before picking you up and walking you to the tub.

“No, but it would be nice.” Your answer caused him to laugh as he settled the both of you in the warm water. Your body was sore in all of the right places and here you were in the arms of the same man who brought you the sinful pleasure and now the most tender affection.

The duality of his love.

ru’s letters 💌: I cannot believe that this was sitting in my drafts for two years. I did some adjustments for it to be a sequel and instead of a prequel. Hope you loved it my angels 😘.

edit: thinking of doing a final part for this where we fully explore Lewis in a full Dom mode. Let me know what you think 🫶🏾

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